


A Second Chance

by ALOrated



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Actual tags to be added as we go, Alex is incapable of even working at McDonalds, Alex is slow af, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Guilt, Hamilton has a 2$ bill!, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Racism, Reincarnation, Religion, Slow Burn, TJeff takes in a hobo, TJeff would like to return a hobo, Took a million references for it to click, Turns out hobo is Alex, Well now he has a crunched one, historical RPF - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALOrated/pseuds/ALOrated
Summary: When Alexander Hamilton faced his death, he saw those he was closest to waiting for him on the other side. When his time came, however, he was forced to face the truth: the afterlife is so great because those dragged down with crimes and a bad record are tossed to a random point in the future, with a new name, new face, and a mission to redeem themselves before they can join those they care about in death.And, to rub salt in the wound, it turns out Thomas Jefferson didn't make the cut either, and Alexander can't seem to stay away from the man.Jamilton reincarnation AU!





	1. The Two-Dollar Bill

Time seemed to slow. Smoke drifted from Burr’s gun, and a silver bullet gleamed in the early morning’s light. Alexander Hamilton saw his end, only feet away.

It was July of the year 1804.

All at once, a million thoughts flashed through his mind. His mother holding him tight, the filthy ship bringing him to America, his friends starting a revolution from a crowded bar, running through the mud as gunfire rained around him, creating a new nation from nothing, raising his son. And then, meeting Jefferson, arguing his way through cabinet battles, confessing, losing his son, and now–!

_ I’m running out of time– _

_ I am either gonna die on the battlefield in glory or– _

_ Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is! _

_ I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory. _

_ Wise up! Eyes up! _

_ The friend who would tell me not to do it is in the ground. _

_ There is no beat. _

_ No melody. _

_ If I throw away my shot… _

His mouth felt dry. His hands, once cold and clammy, were steady. Someday, he would see Eliza again. He would see his friends, his enemies, passing in their own time. He would wait for them, would be there when they were done. Soon enough, he was going to join those closest to him, those who had passed, as they watched from the other side. But he was not going to bring Burr down with him.

Hesitation gone, he raised his gun to the sky...

...And Alexander Hamilton threw away his shot.

In a split second, the world went black. He jumped in and out of consciousness, and hours later, he passed away without a struggle, Angelica and Eliza at his bedside. Burr went and got a drink. Jefferson was delivered the news in his office, frozen in shock and disbelief when he learned the man he had fought with for so long had died from a single bullet.

* * *

 

He opened his eyes. Darkness, crushing and impeding, held him, and it seemed that the glimmer of stars hung above him, unreachable as they always had been, no matter how hard he tried.

_ Am I on the other side? _ He seemed to float, limbs frozen, staring upwards. An eternity stretched around him, but he was unable to make anything out clearly.

“Alexander!”  _ John! _ In any moment he expected to hear running footsteps, see the familiar face of his best friend – a hundred years could have passed and he would recognize that man!

A hand intertwined with his own, yet he was not pulled to his feet. Beneath him, the world seemed to solidify and the rough pressure of stone pressed against his back. Everything around him remained a blur. When he looked towards where John should have been crouched beside him, he only saw a shadow, blurred just as his surroundings were.  _ I can’t even see him. _

He found himself able to speak once more, but for once, he struggled to find words to say. “John, where…”

“Alex…” John’s voice trailed off as the grip on his hand loosened. A moment later, it was pulled away. Still unable to move anything but his head, he was unable to reach out once more. “Do you know where you are?”

In his mind’s eye, Alexander saw the gun, the bullet, the smoke. Flashes of faces, flurries of emotion. Burr’s cry of regret, an instant too late. Eliza sobbing over his still form. “This...this is the...you were waiting for me on the other side, weren’t you? With...with my mother, and Washington, and–!”

Laurens sighed, and despite his shadowy form, Alexander was sure that his friend has shook his head. “We  _ were _ waiting for you. But this isn’t the afterlife.” John motioned towards his form. “I tried, I tried so hard, so many times, to reach out to you. But I moved on, and couldn’t break back. I’m nothing but a shadow, left behind in the world.”

Alexander looked up at the figure, seeming almost to blink in and out of existence. “Then what is this place? If it’s not...the other side?”

His best friend seemed to withdraw slightly, not from repulsion, but regret. “Alexander...what are the worst things you’ve ever encountered?”

The answer to that was easy. The hurricane, the struggles of the war, the political battles. Losing his friends, his son, everything he’d worked to build, gone with the  _ bang _ of a gun. After a few moments, Hamilton responded, “Life.”

John laughed, bitter and sad. “Exactly. There’s no such thing as Hell, only somewhere to move on to. I know you were never the kind of person to believe. Just realize...instead of sending someone on, they’re weighed down by their guilt or their crimes.”

“But, John, then why can’t I come with you? I-I did everything I could do right, I…” The truth sank in. He was going to be left behind.

He was sure that if Laurens was not a shadow, Alexander would have been able to see the sadness gleaming in the other’s eyes. “You’re going to wake up soon, in a time where hardly anyone remembers you. You won’t be able to tell anyone living in this time period about who you really are – you physically won’t be able to. And no one would believe you anyway…” John paused for a few moments before continuing, “Bye, Alex. I’m sorry that I can’t help you.”

John’s hand brushed against his own before the shadow seemed to stand and fade off. “Welcome back to New York City, Alexander,” John’s voice whispered in his ear. In a moment, the presence was gone. Staring off into the darkness, the world around him seemed to solidify. Where his friend once stood, the wall of a building now replaced the background. The stars that had sat above him sharpened, and he now saw that they were had never hung in the sky but rather were lights shining out from windows. No, he couldn’t see true stars in the sky; instead, it appeared to be early afternoon.

All at once, control rushed back to him. He pushed himself up to his knees, scrambling to stand. The stone he had felt against his back scraped his shoes, and he automatically fumbled for his glasses, his hands coming up empty before the realization hit him – he could see fine without them.

The roar of vehicles – they weren’t carriages, no, but other strange contraptions – carried on in the streets before him. At present, he stood in an alleyway, undoubtedly disheveled. His last moments had been spent bleeding and paralyzed; he glanced down at himself, at the spot just above his hip where he had been shot, only to realize he was dressed oddly. His formal attire appeared abandoned, and instead he sported a loose, drab coat and rough pants. Even his shoes had changed.

He paused before lifting the edge of his jacket and the light shirt underneath. Instead of a bullet wound, he sported a faded scar. Straightening out the fabric, he moved to look around, voices and snippets of conversation reaching his ears. People walked past the alleyway, few sparing even a passing glance back towards where he stood.

_ Time to face the world _ .

He had been given a second chance at life. Who knows if anyone else from his life had been brought back as well. Maybe even Jefferson was secretly kind-hearted enough (although from what he knew, he doubted it) to move on to the afterlife. He couldn’t even say whether or not Burr truly regretted shooting him, but he did not hold anger to that. His mother, his son, his commander, his best friend...they were some of the greatest people he had ever known. But clearly, he didn’t make the cut.

In any case, surely he must have been quite some time into the future. After all this time, even his dear Eliza would have passed. He hoped she was enjoying whatever awaited on the other side.

The world seemed to glisten around him, although a sour scent still wafted through the streets and trash was scattered here and there.

So. This was New York City. He was unsure of the year, but based on everything that was happening...well, for all he knew, it could be a hundred years later.

If John’s words rang true, his legacy was nearly forgotten, nothing but a distant memory of the past.

Stepping out of the alleyway, he took a moment to glance back, hoping to see anything else that might have been left behind for him. Finding nothing, he took a deep breath, and joined the throng of people in the streets. Listening closer, their words and manners of speech were confusing, but distantly familiar. A modernized version of English.

First things first. He had to find out  _ when _ he was. Hopefully, he’d be able to find some sort of public library to use, learn a little more about what was going on. Pick up a newspaper, perhaps.

The streets were foreign to him, so unlike what he remembered. This wasn’t a treasure hunt, but hopefully if he could find anything of his old things, or even a familiar location…

Stepping against a building to avoid being run over by the activity and sheer number of people in the streets, he shoved his hands into his pockets, took a look around. The vehicles seemed to inch by slowly, yet those walking swept by.

“Wha…?” His eyes widened in slight surprise when his fingers hit something smooth in his left pocket. Pulling it out, he frowned. A wallet, and one that was undoubtedly of better quality than the worn leather one he had always used. In an instant, he’d flipped it open, looking through the pockets. Cards made of some kind of material he didn’t recognize, one with a picture of a man on it – a form of identification, perhaps, although the man pictured didn’t look anything like him. Letters spelled out “Lin-Manuel Miranda” on the card, although who that was, he had no clue. Small metal coins with various pictures on them, although of what, he didn’t bother to stop and check. A small bundle of paper bills.

_ Wait _ .

He glanced at the first, worth one dollar, if the writing was to be believed. A slight smile crept over his lips; Washington’s portrait stood proudly on the front. While in their early government, they had decided against having leaders on their currency, well...if that practice was abandoned, then he was happy Washington was the one on them.

That smile faded when he looked at the two-dollar bill behind it.

_ Thomas Jefferson, of all people, was recognized!? _

While he didn’t want to throw it to the ground, that particular piece of paper was crumbled up and shoved back into the wallet, while the one-dollar bill was smoothed out and carefully set back into place. The remaining bills from the small bundle were returned to where they had been beforehand, but he didn’t bother counting them all, only estimating how much there was.

Snapping the wallet shut, back into his pocket it went. He ran a hand through his hair, freezing when he felt the short strands against his skin.

His hair wasn’t short. It shouldn’t have been, yet…

He whirled around, trying to catch his reflection in the nearest window, and found himself in shock when he did. He appeared years younger, of Puerto Rican descent, and instead of red hair, he sported a darker, short hairstyle. He might have even been a little taller than before. If anything, his reflection looked nearly identical to the man on the ID card.

_ This isn’t me at all. _

He did  _ not _ sign up to be shot,  _ die _ , and then get stuck looking completely different, dropped with absolutely  _ nothing _ in a world years past anything even  _ remotely _ familiar. He was not interested in living on as this...this...Lin person whose identity he’d suddenly been assigned. He knew he couldn’t just introduce himself as Alexander Hamilton, but still–!

This wasn’t the first time he’d been tossed into New York City, but this time, he didn’t have a thing on him except the clothes on his back and the first fragments of a plan. His wallet had a few bills, surely enough to buy him some necessities, but who knew how much the currency was worth in this year?

_ Fine. If this is all I’m getting, then I’ll make the most of it. I refuse to die in squalor and pain; I’ll claw my way back up from the bottom if it’s the last thing I do! _

Although it would help if he could just slip into the nearest bar, grab a couple of friends, and jump back into the familiar.

And so, Alexander picked a direction and started walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags courtesy of my girlfriend!
> 
> Anyway, the first chapter is done! It's a bit shorter as I didn't want to cut it up into too many chunks, but Thomas will be coming in pretty soon. I've got lots planned for the fic as well!
> 
> Just as a bit of explanation: The historical characters are reincarnated as their musical characters. They aren't actually assuming the lives of their actors, but do take on their names and physical appearances. So, Alexander is given the new name "Lin-Manuel" and takes on the haircut, but that is where the similarities stop. If anything, they hardly go that far; Alexander still thinks of himself as A.Ham, not Lin, and would only use that name as a necessary cover story.


	2. Pick up a Pen

It had only been two and a half hours at the most, yet Alexander already felt swept away. He felt almost archaic, considering his first thoughts had been to find a library. But, the truth was, surrounded with papers and writings and books was where he had always been the most at home, and if he tried asking other people for directions, his strange words compared to theirs would most certainly raise some eyebrows.

Besides, it was impossible for libraries to have vanished in the hundred years or so he had estimated to have passed. Everyone appeared to be interacting with flat, metallic boxes, and large sheets on the sides of buildings displayed moving paintings, but he’d seen plenty of paper scraps as he walked. Sure, it definitely appeared that humanity had mastered witchcraft since then, but he was hopeful that such a theory wasn’t the case.

And so, he’d spent his early afternoon wandering around the streets. It’d taken a combination of luck, the use of a tourist pamphlet that had been thrown into the gutter, and the cross-reference of something displayed on a board called a “subway map” for him to figure his way to the building. It didn’t stand out, and if anything, it had been responsible for pulling him away from the busiest portions of the city. A sign spelling the word “library” was good enough for him, and after a moment’s hesitation, he stepped inside, pushing the glass doors open and feeling cooler air wash over him.

Up above, internal supports arched upwards; there appeared to be more than one floor, although it wasn’t just filled with books, but rather tables and meeting rooms. There was nearly imperceptible chatter in the background, although most of the people he could see were silently reading or browsing the shelves.

A woman working at what he assumed to be the front desk glanced over at him; she used one hand to brush her hair back from her eyes before returning to speak with a man leaning against the wood. He fiddled with a bag he’d slung over one shoulder, shrugging. She nodded, said something quiet he couldn’t quite decipher, and pointed him towards a back corner. After appearing to thank her, the man turned on his heel and slipped off between the shelves.

Taking the opportunity, Alexander jumped to stand where the man had been, impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk. The woman glanced up with a bored expression. “You need something?”

_ Alright. Be careful with what you say; make it sound like you’re supposed to be here. _ “Great apologies to bother you, but I was hoping that you might direct me to your historical reference books? Or perhaps just your general reference section?” He consciously stopped himself from continuing to thrum his fingers on the wood; she seemed to be getting annoyed with the motion.

The woman waved her hand in the direction the other man had gone. “If you’re looking for something specific, search it up on the computers; they’re over to the right, along the wall. Otherwise, just check over there in the corner. Most of the reference material is over there, and the rest of the general nonfiction covers the rest of that area.” She hadn’t seemed too confused about his odd methods of speech, so he quickly thanked her and jogged off, not certain what computers were but figuring he could get by without them.

The books were organized by what appeared to be subject, and then more specifically, by a set of numbers printed on a shiny sleeve on the spine of each. First things first, a modern dictionary. What little he’d picked up on his walk here was  _ not _ enough to sustain him; he’d definitely have to glance through that when he had the chance. Sliding it out and holding it in the crook of his elbow, he snatched a book titled  _ A Brief History of Science and Technology _ . From there, a book referencing modern warfare, a general overview on law, a New York state map book...he quickly found himself struggling to cradle a small stack. The history of the United States of America, and a few “World Almanacs,” with various numbers on the covers that he assumed referred to the series number. A few of extra books he’d grabbed were thinner, likely for younger children looking to do some research, but if they got the necessary points across, then what did it matter? Of course he was going to go more in-depth later on, but he had time to start simple. Yes, that would work.

He winced at the noise he made dropping the books onto a small table nested in an abandoned nook. The library itself seemed almost silent, and while certainly not empty, in the quiet of this little corner, each noise felt amplified.

Alright, he had the books. Now for something to take notes on. He was positive there hadn’t been anything in his wallet, outside of coloring over that stupid two-dollar bill, so he was left with the option to see what he could scrounge up. Leaving the stack behind, he walked along one of the back walls until he reached a row of metallic boxes resting on tables – if he had to guess, the “computers” the woman mentioned.

And of course, the man from earlier was comfortably seated at one of the computers. Notepad and a book in his lap, he was messing with a board of buttons; he glanced up at the screen, scribbled something down on the notepad in a perfect, tiny scrawl, and continued working. Alexander was content to ignore him when he realized the man had set his bag down on the table right in front of a tray of scrap paper and a cup of thin rods. Internally sighing, Alexander gave a quiet cough, followed soon by an “excuse me,” prompting the man to glance up.

“Hmm?” The man was dark-skinned, his hair forming what could best be described as a poof, framing his face. Blinking, Alexander quickly found his words once more.

“I do not mean to bother you, but I must inquire – ah, would you hand me…?” He awkwardly motioned towards the papers. The man looked over, realizing what Alexander had been referring to, and nodded.

“Yes, yeah. You’re needing a pen as well?” He handed over a few slips of scrap paper. Alexander knew for a fact he’d need more than that, but for now, it was good enough. That aside, he had a feeling that they weren’t supposed to be used for note-taking, so it was easier to just go along with it than it was to try and explain himself. He accepted the “pen” as the man had called it, muttered a gracious reply, and slipped off once more, feeling the man’s gaze on his back before he jumped between two bookshelves once more and headed back to his small, abandoned nook. As he set them down, a few slips of paper fell to the floor; they were perhaps half the size of a normal sheet, so he would write small. He stooped to pick them up, stacking them in a clean pile.

And so, he was set. The dictionary was placed farthest away from him; he’d check it over last. He couldn’t say for sure how long he had until the library closed, so he had to make the best of things. The modern technology book was first, for sure; he couldn’t even name half the objects he encountered, let alone their materials – case in point, the pen, smooth and shiny, yet clearly not a metal or wood. The warfare book would hopefully give some insight on the current capabilities, the law would give him a good idea how far the constitution had come, and if he was lucky, the state map would help him get his bearings. Everything else would support and reinforce what he already knew, and hopefully it’d get him to understand the current world a little better.

With that in mind, he got to work.

* * *

 

The year was 2017.  _ That was how long it had been. _ Not fifty years, not even a hundred like he had suspected. Over  _ two-hundred _ years had passed since his death, struck down from a single bullet wound – the scar on his side seemed to burn at the thought – and with that, he shoved the notes he’d taken into his pocket and gone to storm out of the library altogether. The almanac numbers didn’t reference their volume, didn’t explain the focus of the book’s information. No, they were the  _ year of publication focus _ . The 2017 almanac referenced  _ this year’s _ world; it was the newest, and the back of the book had a library sheet showing that it had only been acquired recently.

Of course the world had forgotten him by now. It had been so long, and he had destroyed his legacy.

_ In New York, you can be a new man. _

Ha, fine. He’d follow John’s words, he’d build it back together.

As an afterthought, he scooped up the stack of books and dumped them into one of the return bins set on either side of the main desk area. He wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment – frustrated, fearful, on the verge of tears, to name a few – but it was in his best interests that the library staff not despise him if it meant he’d be able to slip in as necessary. The woman working there had appeared to have either abandoned her post or finished her shift for the night, and as he moved to rush out the front doors, he caught a glimpse of the same man from before. Still at the computers, he had glanced over his shoulder with slight curiosity glimmering in his eyes before turning back around, beginning to pack up some of his things.

Once outside, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and leaned against the hard outer wall of the library. He’d figured out enough for tonight. Outside, he noticed that the sun had slipped beneath the buildings, the city skyline. Darkness had yet to totally fall, but it could certainly be considered early evening. The temperature had dropped, cooler than when he walked in, but not to the point where he was chilly. He took a deep breath, smelled the trash and grease from the city around him, and sat down, staring forwards into the busy street. Passerby didn’t bother with him, and he was left alone.

He was the sort of person to forget that he was human, on occasion. He found himself wincing; he must have been sitting for hours back in the library. Time had a habit of slipping away from him, it always had, and he’d always responded by working as though his time would soon run out.

_ The irony in such a statement _ . But now, everything had changed! Now, he had another opportunity, and could continue to work!

A dull ache in his stomach reminded him that there were more impending matters to focus on at the moment. Darkness would fall soon, always seemed to spread quickly from sunset, and he had nowhere to go. 

After first waking up, he’d figured his most pressing issues were just to simply figure out when he was and what the world was like. He knew for a  _ fact _ that he wasn’t going to be able to pick up a book and learn anything more, let alone correct, about reincarnation other than what John had told him.

Yet, as per usual, it only occurred to him after-the-fact that he hadn’t thought any farther. He’d figured that once he knew more about what was going on, everything was just going to become  _ clear _ , but obviously that wasn’t happening. He knew that the noisy vehicles on the streets were called cars (although how a metal contraption powered by what was essentially fire worked, he had no clue). That wasn’t going to help him find a place for the night, or food…

He pushed himself up to his feet, using the wall to steady himself. Alright, this was fine. He could put the money in his wallet together, see if he could grab something small to eat, enough to take the edge of hunger away. It was less noticeable when he was working, and it’d never been a problem to bury himself in his trials instead.

The difference was that now, he was alone, even despite the busy city around him. He pulled out the wallet, flipped through it cautiously. The one, the two. Three fives, with people he didn’t recognize despite his readings decorating them. A single twenty, again with someone he couldn’t name – that came to a grand total of thirty-eight dollars. In 1804, that would have been plenty. In 2017, from what he could tell, it was worryingly little, especially considering there was no way to buy produce and cook it later on. 

He banged his head on the wall in frustration. Of course, no one walking past on the sidewalk bothered to stop and stare as he continued to stand there, shoving his things back into his pocket. On second thought, he probably needed to stop pulling what amounted to  _ all _ of his personal belongings out on the street, unless he really did want them stolen.

The doors to the library swung open, and the man from before walked out. He’d slung his bag back over his shoulder, of all his belongings probably packed up perfectly inside. Once again, he glanced towards Alexander, who felt himself freeze at the eye contact of one of the only people to have yet noticed him.

The man walked down the library steps, brushed his hair back from his face. He was probably going back to his own home; probably had some cushy, easy job if he could afford to take time off and spend all day at the library.

Wasn’t like Alexander, so unaccustomed to such a society.

With that, he glanced back to see the man walking off down the sidewalk, soon lost in the sea of people. Alexander spun on his heel, made his way in the opposite direction, and hoped that he’d find something to eat and a place to stay for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished off this chapter! I can't say I had a specific library in mind that Alex was in during this chapter; I actually based it off of a few fairly near where I live.


	3. Alex Eats a Burger

The establishment smelled of salt and sickly sweet slime. Alexander snatched the paper bag, his pitiful-looking portion ordered to-go, and was out of the self-proclaimed “restaurant” in seconds. He’d ordered the cheapest helping, reasoning that if the other patrons could stand it, so could he.

With every step through the streets, however, he found it harder to block out the acrid scents. He wanted  _ out _ of the city, but he knew that it would be impossible. He had already spent some of his meager funds on what looked like a disgusting, sloppy ration; it was all he was willing to spend, all he could afford, but it was much easier to find these things in an area with everything, instead of the countryside. Or at the very least, an area not so busy and crowded. Logic required he stay; personal aspirations wished to run.

He paused, looking around. He still clutched the bag in his hand; a chunk of the flimsy paper it was built from tore and he had to scramble to keep from dropping his food. He’d only ordered a simple sandwich-like creation (not only was it cheap, it was also something that he had never eaten before in his life). More than likely, it was slopped together and forgotten about.

A bitter expression shadowed his features. He was not going to find himself falling  _ so low _ as to tragically and overdramatically compare his life to a  _ sandwich _ .

At the same time, it was difficult to remind himself of his once high-standing and dignity when he was sitting down in a mucky alleyway, ripping open a paper bag to tear at a snack not even fit for dogs. What a disgrace. This wasn’t the same as stepping off the cramped ship, stumbling onto dry land. This was being tossed off a sinking ship and faceplanting into the mud and reeds of the shoreline.

John would have expected better of him, had waited so long only for Alexander to prove his idiocy time and time again.

He shoved the greasy sandwich into his mouth, took a bite too large to swallow and fell into a coughing fit. He tried to ignore the way that his eyes stung and watered; undoubtedly, they were red and puffy. They felt too warm, and his cheeks burned, not from embarrassment but pain when hot tears began to streak downwards. This was the man John had waited for.

And then it hit him – it wasn’t just John. His commander, his son, they had been waiting too. But more than that, they waited for him – and he had waited for no one. He had worked to the end, never stopping, never slowing. And when it was over, he ran away. Death was nothing new to him, and he didn’t kid himself with the knowledge that it was unavoidable. Mother, brother, cousin, friend, enemy, lover. But when they passed, he wasn’t there. Couldn’t run to his dear Eliza, wasn’t there for her once she had finally given in. What was her fate, her end? What was her life worth?

And it was that which left him choked up, no longer on sludge disguised as food but on fat tears and guilt, and he wasn’t even sure if it was genuine. Maybe he was merely homesick and whining, maybe he really did deserve to be here as he  _ certainly  _ didn’t deserve to be  _ there _ , and yet here he was, curled up in an alleyway. He couldn’t bring himself to finish his food; it had left a foul taste in his mouth and a churning sickness in his stomach.

Well, at least, he was going to blame the food for that. And so, he pushed away the forgotten wrappers – a meal for the rats, maybe – and tucked his knees to his chest. The light was fading deeper and darker, turning orange and black and the yellow of the city skyline. He’d never needed much rest...or at least, that was what he told himself. But even in the army, he could doze off anywhere.

It wasn’t hard for him to be lulled into a half-awake state as he lay against the hard pavement. He faded away with tear-stained skin and the taste of salt on his lips, mind fogged and blurred with dozens upon dozens of memories swirling together beneath the hazed city sky.

As always, no one passing by cared to look. He was just another lonesome soul, ignored.

He awoke with a startled cry, rushing water and long-passed actions being swept away with the tide of sleep. When he finally peeled his eyes open once more, he found it impossible not to become increasingly aware of a chill that spread throughout his body, starting at his core and radiating outward to the tips of his fingers. The damp clothing wrapped around his body was pressed to his skin, and even the light breeze whispering through the buildings left him shivering slightly. 

His dreams were not peaceful; they rarely were. But for once, he hadn’t been swept so deeply into nightmares like so often, sweating heavily over the night and drenching his clothes, bursting awake with a startled cry. No, instead, he could taste a tainted mist in the air, and came to see dark clouds swirling dark overhead. They were gathering, just as a memory brushed at the edges of his consciousness. He ignored it.

The world appeared to be tinted orange, the bellies of otherwise black clouds glowing from the city lights. Traffic had slowed just slightly, but the city had hardly quieted. A dull ache twisted through his stomach, but he was unsure if it was from hunger, considering he’d eaten the day before, or merely a manifestation of discomfort.

His hand trailed down to his pant legs and he nearly leaped out of his skin at the mushy feeling, shoving his hands into his pockets and frantically looking through his things. The notes he’d taken earlier – considering the sky above him, he could probably consider them having been taken the previous day, at this point – were soaked through. The ink had spread with the water, blooming on the scrap sheets. A few were legible, but most were irrecoverable.

He sucked in a harsh breath, hunched his body over in a way that his wet torso provided a partial protection from the misting rain. He sorted through his notes, setting most of them to the side. They weren’t any use to him now. Then, out came his wallet. It was damp, but fortunately, the water hadn’t ruined it. Inside, most of his things were alright; the bills were damp, but useable. With his clothing soaked, he had no choice but to carefully slip the remaining paper scraps into the leather before returning it to his pocket.

“This...this is just fantastic…” he murmured, drawing his knees to his chest. And then, he raised his face to the sky, the mist tickling his eyelashes. “Thanks, John! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

Many times before had he found himself looking to the sky, lips forming words, praying for a response. And as had happened many times before, he received no answer.

Not that he blamed John. He  _ couldn’t _ blame John. This was entirely his fault, and he wasn’t going to kid himself by placing the blame on others.

Palms scraping on the rough concrete, he pushed himself to his feet, legs protesting. His back twinged, a result of the night accidentally spent sleeping on cold concrete. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep; it was a vulnerable, exposed location. Judging by the darkness around him, it couldn’t even have been too long, even if his body’s protests made him feel that way. He was older than he had been while in the army, he supposed, not that he didn’t welcome the apparent slight youth he’d been granted in this new body.

An effect of running on so little sleep for days on end in the past meant he was unlikely to easily drift asleep again, even if he so desperately needed it. It was a vigorous cycle of working, crashing for a short time, and jumping up after small while, ready to continue. But, it was one he was used to, and the...futuristic New York City he was stuck in was starting to set his nerves on edge. It was never quiet, and the pace of life seemed to flash by so fast.

It had only been...what, a day since he had taken his final breath, life fading from his fateful duel? Admittedly, it sounded wrong when he put it like that, but…

“ _Your first letter, in a style too peremptory, made a demand, in my opinion, unprecedented and unwarrantable. My answer, pointing out the embarrassment, gave you an opportunity to take a less exceptionable course. You have not chosen to do it, but by your last letter, received this day, containing expressions indecorous and improper, you have increased the difficulties to explanation, intrinsically incident to the nature of your application.” _

Everything  _ had _ to have come to a head eventually.

_ “To those, who with me abhorring the practice of Duelling may think that I ought on no account to have added to the number of bad examples—I answer that my relative situation, as well in public as private aspects, enforcing all the considerations which constitute what men of the world denominate honor, impressed on me (as I thought) a peculiar necessity not to decline the call. The ability to be in future useful, whether in resisting mischief or effecting good, in those crises of our public affairs, which seem likely to happen, would probably be inseparable from a conformity with public prejudice in this particular.” _

That didn’t mean he made the right choice.

For the slightest of moments, he found himself vaguely wondering if his letters and detailings were copied in the library, how much had been written of him. He had always told himself he’d go down in history, how people would all know his name, how his story would be repeated over and over again.

And then, he found himself pausing, then falling backwards to lean hard against one of the alleyway walls, some random building. He prided his mind, believed he was intelligent, knowledgeable.

But he’d just woken up a few hundred years after his death in some weird futuristic society, then spent all day in the library under the pretense he would “learn something useful,” took a couple bites of a nasty meal, and passed out alongside garbage in the rain. He  _ hadn’t even woken up _ as the world around him dampened and chills began to crawl over his body. He had almost no money, no real plan, anymore, nowhere to stay or hide – he could deny it all he wanted, but he couldn’t live here in a tiny gap between buildings – and, clearly, no help from John.

No,  _ no. _ He could do this...but he had to rethink things. Most of his notes were waterlogged and useless, tossed to the pavement alongside the remains of his “dinner” from earlier. The books he had been using were, as far as he could tell, the most recently made available on the subjects; however, much of what he looked through was too simplistic, at the level of a child’s reading. Besides, there was no use for him to know every single president that had since passed, or an obscure weapon that had become obsolete in modern warfare. Perhaps later on general trivia would be helpful, but at the moment, functionality was necessary. He didn’t believe he was running out of time; at least, not in the way he used to. He merely could not afford to learn everything one bit at a time when he needed to get onto his feet, and fast.

Of course, he  _ had _ to figure out how to use modern technology. He wasn’t going to pretend he had enough money for a “phone,” as it was called. However, if he was careful with how he spent his time…if he was recalling his cursory glance correctly, the computers at the library cost a small amount to operate for a set period. There was no way he could scrape by in this city without interacting with technology, so he’d have to learn how to use them eventually. Perhaps he could himself up with a few relevant books, furtively glancing over the pages to observe how others used the devices, then mimic it later. It would be simple enough, and if he was fortunate, the computers would just happen to allow him access to much more information than before, relating to the city, maybe even a job opening or care support for those down on their luck. This was all playing off the hope that he was correct in his assumptions gathered while reading about the technology itself, although if he was correct, the payout would be uplifting, to say the least.

A deep breath, and then he cracked his knuckles, mind racing with thoughts, connected in a great spiderweb. The library had restrooms and water fountains. If he didn’t throw up from it, then he could handle eating the same sort of takeout meal he had bought earlier again. Clearly, it wouldn’t kill him right away.

As far as he could tell, of course. There was always tomorrow.

He couldn’t sleep in the library, considering the hours listed showed it closed at nights. That...that would be fine. He’d scrape together something, find a place where he could hide. It’s not as if he had much of anything to lose, in any case, except perhaps his dignity. It was easier to break things down that way than it was to allow his mind to dwell on the alternatives.

A glance to the sky showed that while the clouds remained dark, the hard orange and black somewhat relaxed to grey and yellow. The sun was probably close to rising.

Face set, he ran a hair through still-unfamiliar hair, squared his shoulders, and walked right out of the alleyway. He strode down the street, even as more people appeared around him than before, as traffic got that much noticeably heavier, as…

...As he walked right into the man he’d seen yesterday when he rounded a corner, face smushed into him. Alexander – or “Lin” – lept backwards and stared upwards with wide-eyes as the man, whose name he didn’t even  _ know _ , chuckled softly. After a few moments of awkward, relative silence, the man questioned, “Funny how we just keep running into each other?” He distinctly noticed the man staring him down, surely noting Alexander’s damp clothing that stuck to his skin in places, but wisely choosing not to mention the fact.

Most people in the city ignored each other as they passed by, not even sparing the time to utter a single word. Even now, those who walked past them merely swerved slightly to avoid collision. But when the man spoke, Alexander couldn’t help but recognize a southern accent, of all things, and couldn’t help but wonder how he’d missed the distinctive drawl before. It almost reminded him of the…

_ Ugh. _ Yes, he knew what that sounded like, even if the voice behind it wasn’t the same. That explained the friendliness; he was sure that a pet name or some other title couldn’t be far behind either – 

“Darlin’, while I don’t mind you ogling, I do need to head off to the library.”

Of  _ course _ . Hamilton – or, Miranda, although it was not a name he was quite comfortable with quite yet – crossed his arms. “Well, sir, I myself happen to be off, heading to the same.”

“I imagine we’re going to different places, then, considering you’re goin’ the wrong way, hm?”

“Uh…” He must have gotten turned around. “An honest mistake...I do believe?” So much for trying to use modern English. Hopefully, as time passed, he’d pick it up more.

The other – he probably needed to ask for a name at some point, if they were both going to be often converging on the library as it appeared they would be – shrugged, seeming to take his excuse. “Well, I was not lying earlier. I  _ do _ need to go. Come with me if you want, unless you plan on stopping elsewhere beforehand.”

Alexander shook his head, and the man ran his thumb along a strap of his bag. The mist was continuing to fall around them, and although it was no heavier than it had been before, Hamilton couldn’t help but notice that it left the man’s bouncy hair a little less frizzy than it had appeared the previous day. The little details.

“Alright. Come on, then.”

Alexander hesitated for a few moments, before asking, “Sorry, but...what might your name be?”

The man tipped his head almost imperceptibly, processing the question, before responding “Daveed.”

“Lin-Manuel, if it matters to you.”

Daveed didn’t respond, although he must have heard Alexander speak, and started down the sidewalk once more. Alexander spun on his heel and followed.

It was a silly coincidence that he had run into Daveed, both in the figurative sense and the literal one. Clearly, however, Daveed remembered him from the other day, had bothered to despite surely seeing so many other people passing through day to day, and if Alexander could use it to his advantage…he might as well see.

Of course, what he didn’t see was the smallest glimmer of uncertainty, of  _ hope _ , in Daveed’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daveed doesn't work at the library; rather, he does some of his work at the library, since it's easier for him to access records and use the library computers than it is to deal with everything on his own. Even if he is from the South, he keeps to himself a good bit...but he's not dumb. He knows something's up with Alex, and as collected as he acts, he's starting to get his hopes up that maybe this "Lin" is something familiar, another man from his own time?
> 
> Anyway, sorry about the wait! My big semester project was wrapping up, and with that came presentations, scientific papers, figuring out what exactly we were to do with genetically modified plants that couldn't be thrown away for risk that they would escape to the environment and begin spreading, etc...very exciting stuff (as it turns out, the plants had to be burned, along with everything we used with them). I can't say how soon the next chapter will be out, but the wait won't be as long as this last gap; finals are coming up in about two weeks, but the semester is over in a little under three. Fortunately, I've also got more detailed planning for the plot from here!
> 
> On another note, I've been working on setting up a Tumblr! Well, more like bringing my old one back to life. I haven't gotten around to posting any fanfiction on there yet (and the only art is for other fandoms at the moment), but once I have the time, I'll likely start reposting chapters and posting fanart and such as well!


	4. Computer Confusion

“So…” Daveed murmured as they walked along. Alexander found himself straining to hear the other man through the background noise of the city, cars rushing by, people speaking of this and that.

“...What’s your reasoning behind going to the library? College student trying to branch out and impress your professors?” The way Daveed glanced over at him told Alexander pretty clearly the other man wasn’t getting the “student” impression from him, although that was probably just due to his age, considering his messy look and damp clothing.

Alexander shrugged and pushed up his sleeves, not quite past his elbows, just far enough to be a little more comfortable. “Job inquiries, informational and resource seeking. I’ve found myself new to the city, you see.”

“Mm,” was the taller man’s response as they continued to head down the sidewalk, and Alexander found his mouth running as always, trying to tie together a more complete story. Even though it wasn’t truly quiet, there was a gap between them – one Daveed was appeared alright with, but one Alexander couldn’t stand.

“I am an immigrant, you see. Fluent in English, if that wasn’t clear enough, French, too. But circumstances have left me dropped here without very much, leaving me attempting to take advantage of public resources. I no longer have any family to care for, only my own, so I have been making plans, putting together a set path, climb out of this in hardly any time!” There was a spark of excitement fluttering in his chest. It was small, but one that conjured his shouts for rebellion, and later, cabinet battles.

Maybe it was the love of making an impact. More likely, he just enjoyed the sound of his own voice a little too much.

“I’ve experienced a million things, but I’ve still a million to do!”

Daveed chuckled, the sound soft and bouncy. “Well, it’s good you have an idea of what you’re going to do.”

“Of course I’ve got one, no, I’ve got a hundred to my name, easily!” He exclaimed, “I know I might not look like much, but I am more capable than you might ever imagine!” All those years ago, he’d screamed that his mind was older than his body. But now, he felt the wisdom of his age standing alongside the comparative youthfulness of his new body.

He could get used to this feeling.

“Well, you seem like it. Just don’t get yourself into trouble you can’t get out of, hmm?” Daveed answered smoothly. Reality rushed back to Alexander, and he meekly acknowledged the other’s comment with a nod. He couldn’t get ahead of himself just yet.

Daveed slipped his hand into his bag and fumbled around before going to his pocket and pulling out...it looked like a phone, Alexander was fairly sure. The other swiped along one side and tapped at the flat of the screen with one hand, looking up every couple of steps to avoid bumping into anyone. Finishing up, he moved to toss the device back into his bag.

“Gah!” Alexander yelped at the sudden elbow to the side of the head. The other man jumped, quickly apologized, and threw his phone back into some or another pocket.

“Uh, what do you know, we’re just about here,” Daveed said, words stumbling out. “Er, good conversation, Lin. A pleasure to speak to you.” With that, he pulled ahead slightly, leaving Alexander to slowly walk up the steps behind him and push the door open alone.

* * *

“This is simple. It will be no issue, a minute task at best,” Alexander murmured under his breath, ignoring his small, involuntary shivers that stemmed from wearing wet clothing in the cool indoors. He cracked his knuckles and placed his hands on the keyboard.

Oh. Wait a moment.

He craned his neck, paused, and then attempted to casually side-eye and look over down the row of computers towards Daveed. He’d gotten Daveed’s assistance (thankfully; he was worried the man would refuse to acknowledge him after the incident earlier – although truthfully, it had really been more of rightful payback for Alexander running right into him) in paying for a small time set in which he’d be able to access the device. The issue was, that was something that could be simply played off as being unfamiliar with the library. How was he supposed to explain he’d never used this magical brick before!?

Daveed seemed comfortable here, although thinking back to his interaction with the woman working the front desk, Alexander couldn’t be sure if that was merely a part of his personality or if he came here often. Alexander was leaning towards the former, but hey, two days in a row. Maybe it would get to being a regular thing.

In any case, the other man had spread notebooks and papers around his little portion of the long desk the computers sat on. He sat one hand on a smaller, rounder device tethered with a smooth cable to some place behind the computers.

Alright, Hamilton could do that too.

Oh. Moving the round bit moved the white arrow on the screen. Okay, he could work with that.

Daveed hovered the white arrow over a circular symbol on the screen and clicked the left button on the round device twice, summoning a white box. From there, he was off to tapping things in, opening new tabs, working away.

Back to his own computer, Alexander moved the white arrow to the circle symbol. The jerk of his hand was too harsh; the little arrow zoomed off the screen.

He grit his teeth and tried again, slower, finally managing to center the white arrow where he needed it. With that, he clicked twice and opened up the box, squinting to read the text that came up on the screen.

He could either search or type in a “URL,” whatever that was. Searching it was, then. He lifted his right hand off of the round device, hovering both hands over the buttons of the keyboard, before electing to tap using each pointer finger. Slow, but effective, as each word seemed to take an eternity of seeking to find the letter he needed, punching it in, and then going for the next.

“New York City….” he paused, thinking, before continuing, “social services.” Now, how did he search it? He had put the words in the box.

Navigating the arrow up to the top of the box, he tried the only other action he knew: double clicking. That seemed to be effective, as selecting the blue bar with “search” in greyed-out letters made the page change. From what he could tell, however, he only needed to click once, confusingly enough.

He hovered the arrow over the largest block of blue text that was closest to the top. It read “Social Services” and that sounded close enough to what he was looking for, so he clicked away. The page changed to a new one that was grey and blue, with the same “Social Services,” this time written in large letters. He scanned over the page, looking over what was written there. He still wasn’t quite sure how to go back to a previous page, so he wanted to make sure whatever he clicked on was worthwhile.

In the end, he clicked on “Specific populations.” The little tag below it – he couldn’t click that; it was just regular text – said it was for people that included him. He fit into a few of the categories there, and if it was providing assistance, he was going to take that.

From there, it was navigating down a rabbit hole of links, trying to find a way to apply for acceptance into temporary housing. Considering his only real form of identification was the card in his wallet, he couldn’t exactly claim anything other than that he was a single, homeless male.

He sighed, staring at the website. There was an address listed there; he’d need to go there in person to apply. And even then, there was probably a waiting list of other people more...suited to this time...that were already going to be waiting. Assuming he could spare the money for the train the directions listed on the website...he’d need to go over his finances once more. That sort of vehicle could be expensive, for all he knew; that sort of technology was only just beginning its development at the time of his death.

“Ugh.” With a muffled thump, he allowed his head to fall into his hands. A few moments of wallowing, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position and corrected his posture. If this didn’t work out, it’d be a bit longer of sleeping on the streets. But, hey, maybe he could put something together. Instead of trying to go for housing, he could look around for shops selling clothing for cheap and invest in a better jacket. Skipping a couple days of meals would be no issue.

Just in case, though...he reached over by Daveed and took a pen and a few scraps of paper, scribbling out the address and directions there.

To jobs next, then. He could starve himself all he wanted, but he needed to eat at some point, and eventually, he’d run out of money to do so. Towards the top left of the screen he found an arrow pointing leftwards; hovering over it gave him the option to go back. With that, he navigated backwards, and then forwards, to the job section.

Cue another headache when he began to realize how difficult getting a job in any field he knew anything about was. He was the first Secretary of the Treasury, founder of the coast guard, _George Washington’s_ aide-de-camp, and here he was, struggling to find any job he could apply to. No computer skills, no proof of higher education (or even a high school diploma), no residency within the city. He wanted to scream, but this was a library, so doing such a thing would probably be frowned upon.

Everything needed something he didn’t have. Driver’s license, three years experience, previous job references, this and that.

He opened a new tab and began to slowly type out a query as to where he might be able to obtain official documents, birth certificates, anything. It took exactly three words before he huffed and stilled his hands. This was a lot harder than he had been hoping, and he wasn’t quite sure how much time he had left on this computer. He’d been here for...quite some time, now. It had to be running low.

He closed that tab – he wasn’t quite sure how to get rid of what he’d typed in the search bar – and opened a fresh one.

This was just to satisfy his curiosity. Just for a bit of a confidence boost. He listed his hands once more and slowly began to type out his _real_ name.

“A-L-E-”

“Lin?” Alexander jumped at the feeling of hands on his shoulders, and it took his mind a moment to catch up and realize that, yes, the name “Lin” was referring to himself.

He batted the hands from his shoulders, twisting around in his chair. Daveed, of course. “Might I be of some form of assistance to you?”

The other man shrugged. “Well, there are quite a few clocks in this establishment, and they all read just past noon. Eating is discouraged within the library, so I was going to head out to eat. Well, ah, I actually brought something small with me, I mean that I’ll be heading outside to eat that, not that I’m going shopping at this time of day.”

Alexander gave him a confused look. “I am in no way stopping you.”

“No, I mean, uh, would you like to come on out with me? Take a walk. I don’t mind waiting for you to stop by somewhere else and pick something up for your own lunch. And then we can...talk, I suppose? Of course, you’re still working away, looks like, so I understand if you can’t…”

Daveed appeared to be craning his neck slightly, eyes glancing over to the search bar on Alexander’s computer. Alexander snapped his head around to face the screen once more and closed the tab, name still only partially typed in. “Well, Daveed, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really think…”

A positive little pop-up gleefully informed him that he’d run out of time on this public computer and more was available for purchase. Alexander groaned. “Upon further consideration, I accept, but there’s no need to wait on me. I’m not hungry at the moment.” He was, but there was no reason to tell Daveed such a thing.

“Well, if you’re so sure,” Daveed responded, hoisting his bag up from his chair and tossing it over his back. Alexander shoved the address slip into his pocket and tossed the pen back into the little holding cup it came from. “Let’s go.”

“Right.”

* * *

“The library computers are nice, but using them so much can get pretty expensive when you use them as much as I do, so I really only use them when I need to. Good resources, though,” Daveed explained as they say down on the edge of the library steps. “I’m putting away whatever I can save so that I can hopefully get a cheap used laptop, but other expenses make that difficult.”

Alexander was starting to notice that even with the calm, collected outward appearance, Daveed wasn’t a loud person. Maybe that came as a shock because Hamilton was expecting an annoying southern Democratic-Republican (a name he preferred to the Jeffersonian Republican party, quite frankly, as the latter was ridiculous) who was about to rip his head off in a cabinet meeting – battle, really – or at the very least, tear his latest plan apart. And that self-absorbed laughter when Jefferson was elected! It had almost made him regret endorsing the man, but it was better than Burr (he and Jefferson might have had differing views, but Burr was unprincipled to an extreme he’d found unequaled in any other living man at the time).

But, at the same time, he was starting to recognize some of the similar traits. He wasn’t exactly on good terms with Jefferson – they quarrelled constantly, and even when Hamilton was _clearly_ correct, Jefferson always came back with another point. Something he found insane, considering the man didn’t seem to speak much – _except_ , of course, for when he was snarking back to Alexander. But that soft sort of voice was so similar to Daveed. It was nice when it’s nastiness wasn’t directed at him, he supposed.

“What is it that you do for means of work?” Alexander asked him. “So far as I’ve seen you, it’s been at a computer.”

“Lin, I can count on two fingers the number of days I’ve known you.”

Alexander sighed and shrugged hopelessly. “Yes, you are correct. But I hold curiosity, as you can imagine.” He scratched one fingernail against the stone of the steps they sat on.

Daveed thought for a few moments before nodding his head and responding as he pulled a wrapped sandwich and a water bottle out from his pack. “Well, I’ve done a bit of everything. Philosophy, the sciences, architecture. But my work is in history, nowadays. I cross-reference and examine primary resources, which are-”

“So you look through first-hand, time period accounts of events, and…”

The other man pulled back slightly, and Hamilton bristled slightly at the thought that Daveed was surprised Alexander knew anything about resources. But, the way Daveed sat left his hair covering his eyes in shadows, the light making an almost-halo appear around him, and it was easier for Alexander to focus on that and try not to get worked up and scare off Daveed. “Well, the referencing allows me to gather and organize more detailed work on specific time periods, write about it, whatever I need to do. Considering the living costs in the city, it doesn’t pay...amazingly, but I cut corners where I can and manage to scrape by.”

“Oh.” That was actually pretty interesting.

“It’s something I enjoy,” Daveed answered nonchalantly, unwrapping the simple sandwich. “I specialize in the early days of American history, actually. Less colonial, but really after the revolutionary war, I mean.”

“That’s good. I know a fair bit about the time period myself, I’d say, although only in specific topics." Of course, Alexander only knew this because he’d lived it himself, but he couldn’t just go around _saying that_. John had made that much clear.

“Interesting. In my case, it’s all American history that I actually work in, although if I had the resources, I’d branch off into French history as well.”

Alexander’s eyes widened as Daveed bit in and began eating. That was surprising. “Are you bilingual as well, or…?”

Daveed swallowed, then chuckled. “I don’t have access to it anymore, but my old personal library had books in Italian, Arabic, Irish, Welsh, Dutch...bit of everything. I speak French fluently, and borrowed a Spanish grammar book to teach myself with some time back.”

Well. Alexander felt a little shown up at that. “Um.” Daveed glanced over, and Alexander quickly followed up with a stuttered “T-that is rather impressive, I mean. I, uh, completely support knowing many languages, I just did not expect that.”

“A close friend of mine knew English, Greek, Latin, and Hebrew,” Daveed answered dismissively, continuing to eat. Between bites, he looked back to Alexander, locking eyes. “So. What about you?”

“What do you mean?” Alexander had already mentioned the languages he spoke.

“Well,” Daveed spoke as he fumbled to open his water bottle, “You mentioned a job hunt. How is that going?”

“Fantastically. It’s lovely to see how unqualified I am for everything,” Alexander answered sarcastically, scratching at the steps once more. “And I have my doubts concerning the legitimacy and speed of social services within the city.”

The other man sighed. “Well, do more research when you get the chance, look into things more. Take the opportunities you are given; don’t just brush them off.” He crumpled up the wrapping his sandwich had been in and gently set his water bottle back into his bag. He noticed Alexander’s gaze and smiled faintly. “I got the water bottle from the dollar store. It has a tendency to leak if it’s not upright.”

“Ah.” He hadn’t been questioning that, but alright. “My...condolences?”

“I appreciate that. Thank you,” Daveed hummed in response, and Alexander could have sworn the smile grew just a small bit. And then, he stood up, brushing non-existent dirt off of his pants. “Well, I really should get be heading back to work.”

“Oh, of course, of course, I never meant to keep you!” Alexander hastily said.

“It’s perfectly fine. I hardly pack anything for lunch anyway; it’s just to tide me over until dinner.” Daveed picked up his bag and slung it back over one shoulder, fingers messing with the wrapping from his food, making it crinkle. “It was nice chatting with you, though.”

Alexander snorted. “I cannot imagine why. As you said, we’ve known each other for two days.”

Daveed shrugged in response. “You...brought the attention to yourself. And I’m rarely in the sort of position to form interpersonal relationships that mean anything, so having a little human interaction outside of work is nice. So, ah, are you heading back to the library or…?”

Was he? Truthfully...that probably wasn’t his best course of action. Daveed had said it himself, that the computers _were_ a bit expensive to use, and Alexander was so slow with them. He had that address down; maybe he could start heading there, and if he reached a barrier, then so be it. On the way, perhaps he could look around the shops and stores, seek out job postings. Even if they wished for him to make an inquiry through the computer, he would at least have a better idea of what to do and where to go. And so, he shook his head. “I myself am about to head off, actually. But it was a pleasure to enjoy lunch with you.”

“Ha, I don’t think sitting outside with me for a few minutes without eating can be considered a lunch, Lin. But, ah, bye, then. Will you be returning tomorrow? To the library, that is.”

“Probably,” Alexander admitted. “Hopefully. So I’ll likely run into you tomorrow as well, Daveed.”

“Not like you did today, I hope, darlin’, as nice as that was,” Daveed teased, making Alexander furrow his brow as the southerner climbed the steps and headed off inside once again.

“Heh. He is...nice. That was good. Not too bad at all…” Alexander mumbled to himself as he stuck his hands into his (thankfully) now-dry jacket pockets and walked onto the sidewalk, turning in one random direction on a whim and beginning to walk.

He’d find a job today, then figure out somewhere to spend the night. Apply tomorrow through the library, and take some time to further his research. Get faster at typing, maybe learn a little more about how to use those seemingly witchcraft-powered computers.

Hopefully, he’d get to talk to Daveed a little more, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I get home the day the semester ends, and it turns out that I had gotten pneumonia. So that was quite the experience. Had some wacky dreams over the week+ of being stuck in bed, not eating, with a 104 (f) degree temperature, haha. I also got that Tumblr set up, but it's mostly stuff for my other Hamilton fic, whoops.
> 
> But here's a finished chapter!
> 
> These guys might know several languages, but my French teacher speaks something like 17. Whereas I can't even handle English properly :'D I confused the words "word" and "letter" today.


	5. An Impulsive Decision

Alexander had come to one conclusion: the people of New York City had lost their minds.

Case in point: today, right now. Mid-afternoon. The sun was almost directly above, leaving only thin shadows to be cast onto the walkways by the buildings towering above.

He rocked on his heels, hands buried into his pockets, waiting beside a family of four at a crosswalk. Tourists, if he had to guess, based on how they were all wearing thick-rimmed sunglasses and were spending half their time ogling the sights and the other half complaining.

Not that he was much different, though, come to think of it. The shining metallic buildings and incredibly well-paved roads were a sight to behold in some ways. There was some side to it all that left him awed, as he just could never have imagined the world would one day appear as it did.

He took a moment to run a hand through his hair, revelling once more in the short, dark strands. Quite the change from being a redhead. The father of the family standing beside him muttered under his breath, glaring daggers towards the little light over the crosswalk. The lights, almost like small colored candles burning in the holder, formed a small red hand, palm out, commanding that they sit and wait. For what must have been the hundredth time, one of the children mashed at the button connected to a post by the crosswalk. And once again, some man’s voice magically sounded out of the pole, commanding that they wait for the light to change before they crossed.

The vehicles on the road ahead weren’t exactly flying by, but Alexander didn’t want to test his luck. If other people could wait, then so could he.

Suddenly, he was shoved to the side, hissing and clutching at this shoulder, “Excuse you-!”

A man, dark-skinned, ran by. Not Daveed, with the poofy hair and a constant relaxed smirk, but someone else, clutching a briefcase. He hesitated a half-moment on the curb, rolling on his toes and not even bothering to wait at the crosswalk, and then he was gone. In less than five seconds flat, he was across the street, even including his short pause between two of the lanes to avoid being squashed by a taxi (a name assumed, judging by the letters on the side).

And to think that Alexander was the one who never learned to wait for it.

Alexander just stared after him in the wake of such suicidal actions for a few moments, and then the crosswalk light changed, and one of the cars was kind enough to slow for them to cross.

* * *

 

A few hours later, and he was sitting in the booth of a small shop. Well, “small” was a relative term, but the eatery wasn’t overly crowded.

Of course, it was in this moment of downtime that his body had decided to remind him of the fact he was starving and conveniently located in a food-serving establishment. In response, he just scrunched his eyes shut and rested his head in his hands. The poor worker behind the counter had been confused when he had asked if there was any way to apply in person or if technology was necessitated, just sending someone else to ask the manager-on-duty before asking him to take a seat and wait.

Now, the establishment was plenty pleasant, with a tile floor alternating in colors and bright lights illuminating their meal selections. Still, it seemed just a little too fake and perfect, in such a hard contrast to the roughly-built bars he was better accustomed to.

Alexander yawned before jerking and sitting up a little straighter. If anything, he was starting to really hope that whoever made the decisions in this place pointed towards an online application. He wasn’t sure if he could ever be considered an honest, down-to-earth man (although his general disinterest towards the non-secular subjects did give him a helping hand in that one), but even putting aside the whole “redemption and new life” facet...well, he was tired from sleeping in an alleyway, hungry because he was poor and too stuck-up to actually care about his nutrition, and quite frankly, the people giving him strange looks were likely justified, as he likely appeared exceptionally messy and to be avoided.

He folded a brown, paper napkin that had been left on the table in half, and then in half again. Fingers restless and jittery, he flipped it over and repeated the pattern.

“Heh. Perhaps paper-folding is where my talents truly lie,” he mumbled under his breath, before pausing, looking down at the now merely smaller rectangle that he had created. 

He was so, so, idiotic. After a moment, he crumpled up the paper. A part of him wondered if John was still watching over him now, witness to his descent into madness.

What a disappointment.

A minute later, someone walked up and politely stated that he should apply online at their website. He nodded, thanked them, and left.

* * *

 

In the end, he didn’t spare the money for the train. Maybe tomorrow – it was just already too late into the evening to justify such an action. That wasn’t to say the day had proven useless; quite the contrary. He’d been graced with a hard (albeit metaphorical) slap in the face in response to most job options he felt that he  _ should _ have been capable of outperforming his peers in.

Quite frankly, he missed the days that one merely needed to be smart and have confidence to rise through the rankings. But with “those days” about 200 years in the past, he was being forced to get with the current day. Almost surprisingly, there were a lot of low-paying-and-terrible-but-still-technically-a-job options out there. Now, if he treated each of them like he did the little shop, he wasn’t going to have any of them.

All of this played into why he never pursued taking the train. After spending an evening’s worth of time stumbling around the city and being forced to face the facts, he felt that he had a better idea of the situation...which probably meant that he was going to have to spend the next day hunched over a library computer, slowly typing in job applications and being brought to the verge of tears with the realization he had no idea what most of the licences being referenced were, but hey, one thing at a time.

When the night fell, he found himself unable to bring himself to pass out again in the darkness of an alleyway.

This was all so much. The past few days had felt like riding a horse over stones and mountains, going up and down, up and down, shaking and jerking as he went. One moment he felt as though he could take on the world, and the next he felt as though he was watching a chronicle of his own involuntary creep into insanity.

He was dirty, smelling like the streets themselves, and could be nothing but thankful that his hair was short, because if it was longer, it would be tangled and matted. His clothes were stained, after he’d been stuck wearing them for days on end. He had practically nothing, no funds, no resources.

Incapable of sleep, he was left in a feedback loop of frustration, finally standing up, looping his jacket around his waist and starting to walk. At the very least, the current layout of the city, the location of each place he’d been, was starting to make sense, was added to his own mental map. But when he walked, he went nowhere in particular.

The next morning, he stumbled into the library. He felt weak, his head pounding, and he resented his situation for it. He’d gone before without eating, hardly drinking, practically sleepless, but he was no longer used to doing such a thing out of necessity, instead of just as a result of being too caught up.

As he walked by the front desk, the woman working there – the same one as had been there the days previous – spoke up in his direction, and he freezed, worried that he had committed some infraction that would lead to him being kicked out. Instead, she just beckoned him over to the desk, moving aside papers and books as she explained their membership program.

He just nodded along, only perking up when she explained that she’d noticed him paying for computer time, and that those who signed up could get benefits like free or reduced prices on using library resources, among other things. His heart sank once more when he found that no, he didn’t yet have documents to prove residency or similar, but she assured him that she could issue a temporary one with the identification card he was currently carrying with him.

Spirits somewhat uplifted, he thanked her and wandered off collapsing in one of the wooden chairs at the computer desks – in particular, one that was out of the woman’s view. The action was deliberate, because even if he had no intentions of passing out in  _ here _ either, he wanted it to happen away from view of the entrance and front desk.

He ran his hands through his hair, leaning back, and then shaking his head and stiffening up. Nope, he couldn’t sleep here. Slightly uncomfortable in the cooler air of the library, he considered for a moment going to wear his jacket, finally brushing off the thoughts and rubbing at his eyes. He’d only been up for 26 straight hours or so by this point; he didn’t have an excuse to slow down yet, dammit!

He pulled a crumpled paper slip out of his wallet, long strings of letters forming the address of the applications he was supposed to fill out. Tapping on the keyboard until the screen lit up to show a simple background and a pin box, he turned his newly-issued library card over to type in the number printed on the back. To his relief, the password was accepted, a little box popping up to cheerfully state that his two hours of free computer usage began now. Hey, that was two hours that he wouldn’t need to pay for, which was certainly a benefit in his book.

A bit faster than the last time he’d used a computer, he navigated the little white arrow to the circle that brought up the tabs. In the input space, he slowly typed in the first address on his list, going letter by letter.

* * *

 

Daveed didn’t show up that morning, and after Alexander had struggled through the process of making an “email address” and trying to puzzle out the applications he looked at, he had ended up walking out of the library. And, while his funding-oriented mind hated himself for it, he ended up giving in to his body’s physical needs and choking down the smallest, cheapest option on the menu of a nearby shop.

Once he’d finished, he was simultaneously left longing for more to satiate his hunger, and hating himself for stooping down to eat it. His tired consciousness was not-so-helpfully pointing out that eating only a tiny bit made his hunger pains worse, and angrily ignoring that fact, he forced his limbs to carry him onwards.

When he’d gotten back to the library, he only half-heard the front desk lady’s cheerful “Welcome back!”. It was on his way to the computer nook that something caught his eye – a side room, separated from the rest of the library by glass doors. Above them was the label “Genealogy and Local Records”.

That was...interesting.

Brow furrowing, Alexander walked over towards them, pulling on the metal handle and walking in.

There was no one else inside, the room barren. Well. He could have used this two days ago.

In one corner set on a desk, there was something that appeared similar to the computers he’d been using, although he didn’t examine it closer. There was a globe on a particularly tall stand beside it, and Alexander couldn’t help but reach out and spin it around, taking comfort in its worn and used appearance.

The rest of the room appeared to be mostly books and shelves used for storing files. While there were a few other decorations on the walls, an old map of New York among them, they were inconsequential.

He pulled open a drawer, blinking in surprise as he saw it was totally filled with small films. Little rectangular cards were imposed on each one, but even when Alexander squinted, he couldn’t quite see what they were. He continued looking through the cards, trying to get an idea of their organization system, even when he heard the soft swhoosh of a door opening. In fact, he probably  _ wouldn’t _ have pulled his attention away at all, if it weren’t for the hand placed on his shoulder.

“I see you’ve discovered the microfiches,” Daveed hummed, causing Alexander to squeak in alarm, accidentally banging his forearm against the internal walls of the cabinet drawer.

Dropping the film back in place so that he could remove his hand and rub the now-sore area, Alexander managed to choke out, “I was not aware that they had such a name as that.”

“Whatever their title, you’re one of the only people I’ve seen using them, if that improves your spirits somewhat.”

Alexander just shook his head, shutting the drawer. The silver metal made an almost uncomfortable noise as he did so. “I...no, no, it isn’t that which dampens my mood. I just...am not in a very good position at the moment.”

Daveed leaned against one of the more bare stretches of wall. “I noticed. You look like you were trampled by horses.”

Grimacing, Alexander rose to his feet, muscles protesting. “And thank you, for your keen eye and observations! It’s not as though I have practically no possessions, no additional clothing, no reasonable amount of  _ any _ currency, haven’t really eaten or slept in days! I believe my appearance is justified!”

Daveed jerked, holding up a single finger to his lips, signalling for him to hush. They were in a library, after all. Embarrassed, he turned to leave the room, only stopping when Daveed grabbed him by the arm. “Wait, Lin-”

Alexander just gave a resigned huff, “It’s been a pleasure continually running into you, but I am not in the position to…to…”

Daveed shook his head, jumping in when Alexander’s words faltered. “If you can afford to wait here until this evening...well, I may have a proposition for you.”

Furrowing his brow, Alexander could only respond, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re not in the best place right now. I...I can see that. But, uh, where I’m renting there’s a pretty lax guest policy, and...well, I’ve got a shower and a roof…you can stay for a few days, or longer, just to have somewhere to come back to while you work on your job hunt...it’s not much, but as long as you don’t mind trying to squeeze into a studio apartment with me...” Daveed seemed to be throwing out whatever reasoning he could possibly come up with, and it made Alexander look onwards in something that was semi-suspicious, but mostly just...confusion.

“What possessed you to think that helping some...walking sinful, disgusting man about to collapse in your home is a good idea?”

“You seem like a good man, and whatever was the reasoning behind your situation...well, I just thought that I am in no place to judge.”

Daveed was wrong, but Alexander respected the reasoning he gave. He didn’t want to project himself as a charity case, but even if it was only for a short while, he needed the help...

Weakly, almost hesitant, he accepted.

If only he could know why Daveed was so infatuated with the prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester has finally ended for me...which means that I'm back to working on all of my various projects!


	6. Unwarranted Generosity

The walls were surprisingly less grungy and dirty than he had expected when Daveed had explained that his living situation wasn’t the most desireable. They’d already had the awkward conversation where Alexander had been forced to admit that he literally didn’t own  _ anything _ outside of the clothes on his back right now, so surely Alexander wasn’t in a position to judge. Upon a quick glance, he could see that the apartment complex wasn’t particularly large, compared to some of the buildings in the heart of the city, but it wasn’t tiny, either. Certainly cheaper, being a bit of a walk out there.

Daveed’s apartment was on the second floor, and he sarcastically mentioned that he had people living on five sides of him. As it happened, his statement was very true – they’d climbed up a poorly-lit staircase, the yellowed lighting reflecting off of old metal – and entered a carpeted hallway, rows of doors on either side. Clearly, the walls hadn’t been very soundproofed, as he could hear people walking on the floor above, other small noises able to be heard from nearby rooms.

Alexander dragged one foot along the floor, shuddering at the feeling of the thin, patterned carpeting on his shoes. Daveed didn’t seem to notice that, only walking down the hall with the resignation that came from accepting the life he afforded himself. He patted his pockets, pulling out a surprisingly small keyring and fiddling with the doorknob.

“My apologies...it’s a little finicky, sometimes,” Daveed muttered under his breath. “And the landlord’s only interaction with us is to collect rent, so it’s not like he’ll be fixing anything anytime soon.”

Alexander didn’t really have a response to that, but not wanting to maintain his silence for too long, he just nodded and mumbled an agreement. Finally, Daveed managed to get the door unlocked, kicking it open with one foot and leaving it open for Alexander to follow after him. Daveed clicked on the lights, and Alexander shut the door after them, turning the interior lock at the other’s prompting.

The apartment was...quaint, if he was pressed for a positive word to describe it. Comfortably small, depending on the tastes of the viewer. Daveed seemed to get an idea of what Alexander was thinking, managing out an “I’m aware of its...unfortunate dimensions, but this is practically still in the city.”

“Oh, no, I completely understand,” Alexander quickly stuttered out. This wasn’t going very well.

To the left was a half-open door; Alexander could see a sink and toiletries, but due to the shadow and angle, not much else. Daveed led him forward, stepping past the bathroom into the main area of the apartment, and they passed a narrow cover for what Alexander assumed was a storage closet. What stuck out to him the most was the layout: everything was built into a single room, although each portion felt divided. To their immediate left was a kitchenette, cookware and devices that Alexander couldn’t fathom the usage for. Everything looked old and beaten up, but scrubbed as clean as was possible considering their natural state.

Before them was an office nook. Alexander noted that the desk was simplistic, and it didn’t look that sturdy, either. The legs were thin, with papers and books that had been stacked up one side to the point that he was a little worried that it would tip over from imbalance. Above it was a small window, although the view was of nothing but more asphalt and pavement and concrete. There was a delicate, slimmed-down looking swivel chair pushed underneath it, and Alexander found himself left with a bitter taste in his mouth at the sight. Thomas Jefferson had been just so happy with himself and his little invention, although Alexander hadn’t known him at the time to the extent that he later would.

Personally, Alexander felt that it was rather pointless. It took almost no energy to simply  _ turn around _ , and he preferred a...sturdier seat to work with.

To the left of the desk was a surprisingly sizeable bookshelf with a solid back, although it didn’t hold many books. Alexander could see a few notebooks among the various other items, covers beaten, pastel-colored notes stuck out of each.

“Ah, well, this is my home. My bed is set up over in that corner, with the bookshelf.” He motioned over to the back left, and Alexander noticed the sheets of a low-set back sticking out from behind the shelf.

It was a divider, he realized. A way to make a bedroom out of a life that couldn’t afford one.

Because this New York City wasn’t the same one he had left. Because Daveed was, when it came down to it, just another struggling historian with a keen interest into the past. He had very little. But he offered what he could.

This man didn’t have much to give, and yet he gave it anyway, every little bit of help and companionship contributed speaking volumes.

Alexander turned to face Daveed, despite being weary – he was tired, so tired – and hungry – his last  _ real _ meal was the one Eliza made the night  _ before _ , cooking just as she always had. A meal for her and him and the children, his youngest only a month past turning two years old, something he knew because their little birthday celebration was burned into his mind yet. And, when he turned to face Daveed, that expression strangely familiar with those relaxed eyes and knowing expression, yet the man, mind, and world two hundred  _ years _ apart, he smiled.

Alexander truly, genuinely smiled. “ _ Thank you _ , Daveed. Really. Doing all of this for me, some man that you know hardly the slightest facet of.” There was some part of him that wanted to keep rambling as he always did, trying to explain that there was  _ so much more _ to him, and that if Daveed liked what little he saw, Alexander would cling to that farce.

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t wave away the weight of the situation, or the reality of it. So instead, he just rocked on his feet, shaky and aching from walking about for so long and being so exhausted. That smile remained plastered onto his face, but the meaningful expression filled in behind it, trying to dig into and hold onto what he had.

Daveed reached out, ignoring Alexander’s slow reflexes and sloppy, surprised jerk away from his hand when he clapped the smaller man on the back. “I can’t keep trying to explain my reasoning away, honey!”

Alexander shook his head and blinked a little quickly. He was going to pass out soon, if he didn’t do something more than just stand around. It was the lack of stimulation that was really dragging him down.

“Well, hey. You can go ahead and jump into the shower back there real quick and I will, ah, get a bedspread up for you.”

“Oh, Daveed, I’ve been sleeping in an  _ alleyway _ , I’m fine on the bare floorboards at this point.” With such a notion, his mind’s eye flashed back to his younger days in the military – sleeping under the stars on leaves and grass, John beside him, Lafayette snoring softly beneath Washington’s jacket. He was hesitant to create a story with even more holes if he specified that he was used to sleeping anywhere (including his office, in later years…), so instead he just emphasized the fact that Daveed had done enough already. Still, the man insisted.

“Look, there’s no reason to decline, alright?” Daveed tipped his head, and Alexander found himself noting how even in the poor lighting, even in this simple and small home, he still managed to carry himself with an air of importance, a poised look of collectedness. Not confidence, but assurance that he was where he was supposed to be. It was an interesting thing to note, of all the features he had. “I’ll show you how the shower works and you can get cleaned up, since I’d assume if you were out on the streets with truly nothing, you wouldn’t really be in the best position to have access to similar facilities.”

Alright, Daveed had him there. He absentmindedly moved to run his hands through his hair, shuddering and pulling away at the slight greasy sensation. Thankfully his hair was short, but he had to accept the fact that his clothing was already mucky enough as it was, let alone his body. “Ah, yes, thank you.”

* * *

 

Alexander had never before felt awkward or embarrassed about bathing in someone else’s home, but this was a new circumstance to him. He had shut the bathroom door, noting that it closed with a click but did not lock properly, the mechanism undoubtedly broken.

What truly left him in discomfort was the intimate nature of everything, he supposed. This was a new time, and he was afraid of overstepping some invisible line that would leave him kicked to the curb. Hence why he was showering quickly so as not to waste the water (he wasn’t going to try his luck and see how much mysteriously already-heated water was hiding in those pipes) and trying not to think about the fact that he was using someone else’s...their body wash, soap, whatever it technically should be considered. Daveed has reassured him that it was the cheapest he could get that worked with his hair and skin type, and that he didn’t mind Alexander using it to clean up. Still, it was certainly different in some respects from what he was used to.

He scrubbed down his arms with the dark washcloth he’d been provided, trying to divert his attention by reading the side of the conditioner bottle. Moisture-locking women’s conditioner. How...pleasant. If he looked closer he could see some list of names that sounded like exotic poisons, although several words had been covered up by suds dripping down the side of the bottle.

Maybe he didn’t need to look closer. If he started looking closer, it wouldn’t be just the strange ingredients in conditioner he was left thinking about, but also how the towels were all dark colors, surely to hide stains; or how the shower basin was built without much siding, so that presumably the previous tenants had left warped trim due to kicking out water. How just a few days previously in his mind, he wouldn’t have been in a position to see such things, especially as his own home was certainly lacking in many futuristic facilities, even if overall he was towards the bottom of the barrel in a grungey apartment.

There was a knock on the door, and he hastily started to rinse off. “Sorry, I’m still in the shower but I’m almost done-” He was concealed behind the shower curtain, but stifled a yelp when he heard the door open.

“Coucou,” Daveed said, not totally coming in from what Alexander could tell. “I found some older, smaller clothes; you can see if they fit you. I’m a little bit taller than you, but it’s probably better than nothing, right? Just try them on once you’re out!”

The door shut again, and Alexander heard the hinges squeak as he was left sputtering. Foremost, for the simple reason that he’d reflexively leaned back in confusion, and water had spilled all over his face.

At least that kept him a little more awake than he had been, although he was still stifling a yawn.

No, what else had left him in surprise was simple the nature of Daveed barging in. His little “coucou” was something Alexander had rarely heard – really only something done by the French, in his experience. Done by Lafayette as he barged into a tent. And then, the fact that he had left clothing? It was certainly unasked for.

Alexander shut off the water, stepping out and shivering at the sudden rush of chilled air from the other side of the shower curtain. He grabbed a towel, the color an odd mix that hovered right between purple and brown, and drew the curtain along the metal railing. It scraped along with a sound that left Alexander shuddering, but he was not going to risk leaving it bunched up at one side of the basin. It had been shut when he first walked in; whether for looks or to prevent mildew, he didn’t know, but that wasn’t the point.

He ruffled at his hair with the towel, pleased with the quick-drying nature of short hair. After running it over himself to dry off the best he could, he dropped it on the tiled floor to at least make an attempt at leaving everything as dry as when he came in.

The mirror above the sink had fogged up. Balanced on the edge of the countertop was the outfit Daveed had left, and after a glance back at the pile of his own clothing, he pulled his own underclothes on once more and went back to sort through what Daveed left.

Perhaps one of the strangest changes in this world that he hadn’t thought closely enough about to address yet was the clothing styles. There had been an unmistakable cultural shift in what people wore and how they looked, and he could think of some people who wouldn’t be caught dead wearing what was worn these days.

He yanked up the loose pants he’d been left, noting the way they seemed to sag around his knees and ankles. They were a bit larger than what he tended to wear, the fabric not linen or wool. Cotton, maybe. Made for someone a bit taller than himself; Daveed did have a few inches on him, admittedly. He drew the drawstring and tied it into a tight bow. 

His motions slowed when he went to pull the shirt over his head. There it was – the pale, marred skin.

Right where a Burr had put a bullet in him. The scene was burned into his mind clear as day – the sun in his eyes, slowly rising over his New York City. Early-morning fog drifting across the Hudson.

That very spot was probably unrecognizable, these days, but he supposed there were worse places to die. A little house on Greenwich street wasn’t bad.

Another thought forced its way into his mind at that.

Where had he been buried?  _ Somewhere _ , there would be his grave, his body long since rotted away. Was there anyone out there that thought about him? Saw his legacy and visited his place of rest?

He took a deep breath, the air seemingly having been ripped away from his lungs. This was nonsense, thinking of himself that way. Objectifying his death. He was still himself, and even if he had a new name and a new face, and no good would come from acting like this and ignoring what made him,  _ him _ . So, he threw his thoughts to the side and went back to dressing.

The shirt was a similar case as the pants, the sleeves clearly sewn to be short, but coming down closer to his elbows than normal, with the lower edge falling to his thighs. Just past his fingertips, if he stood up straight, the neckline uneven until he adjusted how it fell over his shoulders.

Everything was just oversized enough to be the slightest bit of a nuisance should he focus on it. Therefore, he would not, and instead focus on being grateful for being given a change of clothing in the first place. Surely there was some place to go where he could spend the minimum necessary and wash his normal clothes? Although, with so few garments to his name, it may be redundant to try.

Hesitating, he finally chose to reach out to the mirror, wiping one hand over it. The condensation was pulled into little droplet-covered streaks following his hand, but had cleared up just enough for him to glimpse his face.

Stubble had grown over his previously clearer face. He couldn’t call himself clean-shaven, as this new body, albeit not one that was incredibly different from his old self, had nicely cut facial hair. “ _ Had _ ” having more than one usage, being that it had been several days since he’d had the chance to properly shave. It made him look messy, to a certain extent, and he decided that he’d find a way to deal with that soon enough. 

Checking that the bathroom was as clean as it could be when he’d first entered (with the exception of the fogged-up mirror), he folded up the towel and returned it to its rack, scooped up his own clothing, and toed on his shoes. Daveed didn’t seem to care about tracking dirt into his house, so Alexander was just going to go along with it.

Which, of course, seemed to have been the wrong move. When he stepped out of the bathroom he could see Daveed’s own shoes sitting nicely by the door, laces undone.

“U-uh…” was all he managed out before Daveed jumped up. He’d been lounging in his desk chair, and when he stood up suddenly, it swiveled around to face the wall.

“Ah, Lin, you’re finished.” Alexander inhaled through his nose, trying not to give away how out-of-place he felt. “Well, come on over.”

He obliged, adjusting his grip on his jacket as he walked into the main room, pausing mid-step at the sight. Daveed had thrown down some sort of mat to cover the otherwise-bare floor, nestled against the side of the bookcase open to the room. Overtop of it was a surprisingly thick blanket, a shade of purple that suggested the sheet had been well-loved, lightened by the sun and stained by misplaced drinks on the bed.

“You just…?” He’d actually gone and set up a place for Alexander to sleep? Daveed shrugged, lips pursed in amusement, fluffy hair casting a shadow over his face.

“It was the least I could do. I’ve got a bowl for you on the counter, too. I can’t afford going out to eat every night, so I cook at home. Not my best skill, but it works.”

Alexander frantically shook his head. “Woah, please. No. I cannot justify taking up your time like this, your private space and borrowing your clothes and bedsheets like this, and then turn for your  _ nourishments _ as well!”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Alexander straightened up, lifted his head. “This...morning? Sometime earlier today, I believe it was. And that was expensive enough. And with that in mind, I cannot justify using your funds for my own devices. I know plenty enough about finances to put together that much.”

Daveed snorted, brushed back a curly strand of hair from his face, thinking. “Do you have any coins on you?”

Unable to help himself from frowning at the question, Alexander replied as vague as he could. “A few. I’ve been trying to spend as little as I can.” He moved to stick one hand onto his front pocket, realizing only after his fingers found nothing but emptiness that he hadn’t transferred his personal things into the new pair he was wearing. Fortunately, Daveed waited patiently as he flipped and turned the old pair around until he could find one of the pockets, pulling out a few coins. It wasn’t much, clearly. A little sheepish, he held out his hand.

Daveed rocked forward onto his toes, looking down at Alexander’s outheld palm. “Thirteen cents. That plenty covers the cost of a cup of rice, stuff’s cheaper ‘an dirt.”

They completed the trade off, and Daveed handed him the ceramic. Alexander didn’t feel too good about accepting it, even with his meager payment, but then his stomach rumbled, a reminder that even in the future, people still needed to eat.

He sat down on the makeshift bed. Daveed took a seat at his desk, careful when he pulled his chair out. So long as he didn’t scoot to the side, he wouldn’t run into Alexander, but they remained in cramped quarters.

Alexander took a bite of his dinner. It was basic, but appreciated. Mostly rice, some mixed vegetables, probably some salt and other ingredients he didn’t know the name of. He expected Daveed to sit in silence – this was his home, and surely he would like some time alone with his thoughts after working the day away – but instead, the man spoke up.

“So, Lin. You mentioned you know a bit ‘bout finances. Where’d that come from?”

Alexander froze, forkful of rice halfway to his mouth. He had to think on his feet for this one, despite sitting down. It wasn’t as though he could simply come out and say that he was the first United States Secretary of the Treasury!

“I was a clerk back before I came to America,” he finally stated, shoving the fork in his mouth a moment after. That much wasn’t a lie, technically. Beekman and Cruger, an import-export firm trading sugarcane and rum and all sorts of goods that he would never have been able to afford on his own. He was still a young teen, back then, but had fudged his own birth records to make himself seem a few years older, more employable. And hey, somehow, it worked; he built up his skills through experience and self-teachings.

“Oh, that’s interesting.” Daveed tapped his own utensil against his bowl, although he was eating with a spoon.

“Eh, I might suppose, but only time may tell if I can find myself a career relating to it, something I find doubtful. But, I’ve managed to find a few places that don’t require much to apply to. So...we shall see how that goes. If anything, while my line of work may not directly relate to my previous jobs, I will at the very least be paid.” That was just the unfortunate truth.

Daveed nodded in understanding. “Your words speak the truth.” He took another bite of his meal, chewed, and swallowed. “Finances never were my thing,” he admitted, “although that’s not to say I’m bad with ‘em. Just not my line of work. Although being a historian...wasn’t exactly my expected career.”

“You seem to have a fine handle on them,” Alexander responded. Daveed shrugged. “Both history  _ and _ finances,” he clarified. He knew worse people – for all of Jefferson’s pompous talk about Virginia’s debts being paid and there being no point to a national banking system, the guy’s finances were a disaster, in his own personal opinion.

“Mn, as I said, I wouldn’t know about that second one,” Daveed reiterated, leaning back in his chair. Alexander frowned slightly, not liking the way it tipped back. “But I do what I can. Historians are  _ not _ paid very well, so I’ve been picking up some shifts at a fast-food place on weekends, and that helps cover my expenses to an extent, I’d suppose.”

“Fair enough.”

“Well, I cut corners, and I scrape by.” He motioned to the mat Alexander was sitting on. “Was sleeping on that old thing for a while, ‘til I got an actual bed. Same deal with the blanket, actually. Turns out there are yard sale carpooling groups out there that are really into hunting for strange things at good prices, with even more people just tryna get rid of their junk.”

“That’s a rather...fair solution to such a problem,” Alexander commented approvingly, looking down at the blanket. Even with its worn threads and small tears around the edges, it would continue to do its job well.

“Heh, thanks, Lin.”

Alexander wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to being called by that name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned out what I wanted to happen in the chapter, and ended up only getting halfway through my list, whoops. The chapter was already a bit longer than the others as it was, so I decided to split it all into two parts.


	7. Get Some Rest

Alexander helped to clean their dishes after they had finished their meal. It wasn’t much work – a spoon, a fork, two bowls, and a container. Daveed laughed when Alexander had turned the spoon at just the right angle while rinsing it to leave himself with a dark, wet mark over his borrowed shirt.

Alexander couldn’t reciprocate the amusement when he saw the way it bloomed over the fabric like a bloody bullet wound.

Eventually, they settled back down. Alexander was hesitant to sit down once more, sure that he was in danger of passing out, but as Daveed took his spot at the desk it was decided that he couldn’t just _stand_ there awkwardly. However, that didn’t mean he was going to allow himself to fall asleep. Even if he wasn’t quite as sharp or witted as he would otherwise have been, he could at least make decent conversation.

And that was how their chat began – Alexander wracking his exhaustion-addled mind for something to talk about that wasn’t likely to come off as rude or ungrateful, finally settling on trying to dig a little out of Daveed about his career. He could only hope that he hadn’t misjudged the situation, serving as a distraction from what better things Daveed had to be doing at the moment.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem as though he had. In fact, if anything, he had said just the right thing. A pleasant smile had crept over Daveed as he spoke and explained, motioning with open arms.

“And that’s the thing about history – so much is just...lost. Historians are always having to argue and disagree over this and that because we just don’t truly _know_ and don’t have the proof to show for it.”

Alexander tugged at his socks, which had turned around on his feet. His shoes sat beside his little bedspread, the clothing he’d woken up in folded and deposited on top of them. “What do you mean by that? You said that you studied...ah, the American Revolutionary period, yes? People were _always_ writing, working away, logging everything. Surely that’s enough?”

“But is it _really_?” Daveed was facing away from him, leaving his voice that much softer. “All it takes is for a handful of letters to be burned, and that’s it. With a single candle and a swipe of the arm, those words are forever erased and the world will never know what happened. Even simple, offhanded inaccuracies between notes could spark a storm.”

A sigh left Alexander’s lips unbidden. Daveed was correct. Perhaps a diary told of the daily experiences recorded by one man or another, but what of the relationships between the greatest players, or the records left for the future? He had done just the same, in a sense. Hid the truth, rewrote it, changed it as he saw fit. And for all he knew, there was some poor historian out there trying to sort it all out.

He shook his head, grateful that Daveed was looking away as he grimaced. He was not going to allow himself to fall into that rabbit hole, as what was done was done and he could hold it close to his heart or lock it into the recesses of his mind without it escaping. “Well. That is just what you would be for. As a historian, you can look closer. You can analyze.”

Daveed chuckled, and Alexander could have sworn he heard a tinge of bitterness interlaced in the words. “It’s not necessarily fun and games such as that. I don’t just sit about reading old letters. But I suppose I can appreciate the enthusiasm...and watching the echoes of effects and perception from so long ago is certainly something.”  
“I’d imagine it means more the further involved you are,” Alexander responded, voice as smooth as he could muster. “How much experience and passion drives you on.”

“You could that, Lin. You could say that.” Daveed leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The touch left it ruffled – more so than usual, at least – and a few stray strands fell out of place. “I mean, I never had the opportunity to learn and study for certifications and degrees relating to the field. At least, not in the same way as most others working there. But I’ve done well for myself, in a way. I’ve found myself with a unique perspective on the time period; practically had first hand experience.” Daveed’s gaze locked with his own and Alexander shrank back, his mouth suddenly dry at the sight. The other man’s eyes seemed filled with emotions so complex and twisting and turning that he couldn’t hope to decipher them, but seemed to be...thinking, trying to voice a suggestion. “You know what I mean? After all, you seem to recognize most of what I’m goin’ on about, which is more than what other people can say for themselves.”

Alexander forced a smile upon his face, perfectly aware that it would never pass as genuine, not reaching his eyes and wavering slightly. “Ha...uh, if only you knew, right?”

Daveed leaned against the desk, one arm propping his chin up. “Yeah.” His expression was thoughtful as he stared towards Alexander, but didn’t meet his eyes, instead appearing to focus just above his head. The silence was starting to stretch as Alexander grasped for something more to say to pull away their conversation from the previous question.

He turned to look over his shoulder at what Daveed had been staring towards. It was the bookshelf behind him, although there wasn’t much to say about that. What did he have to work with, there? Notebooks and disorganized piles of papers? He licked his dry lips, fingers digging into the blanket before stuttering out, “So...you’ve got a lot of notebooks. Do you...um, do a lot of writing?”

_For God’s sake, Hamilton, practically any other sentence chosen would be less awkward than that._

“Well, I’ve got to. Without a home laptop or anything similar, there isn’t much that I can exactly do.”

Right. The answer was obvious enough. Shrugging, Alexander replied, “True, I didn’t think of it that way. I, uh, actually can see your point well enough. Personally, I’ve certainly had a better hankering to working with the qui- er, pencil or pen, over typing. Not the best resources for working otherwise, back where I’m from.”

“That’s right! You’re an immigrant. What country?” Daveed exclaimed, and Alexander felt a stirring in his chest. It seemed like the discomfort and slow pace of their earlier conversation was dripping away, a weight lifted off of them.

A weight that came crashing back as he realized that he had _no clue_ what country he should claim to hail from. He was from Nevis, an island part of the British West Indies – and considering how the United States arose from a simple colony, who knew if Nevis was still under the same control?

“Er, such a thing shouldn’t matter, right? All that is of concern is that I’m a new man in a new city.” That seemed to be enough, because Daveed was back to smiling, tension gone and muscles loose.

“You know, you’re right, honey. In New York, you can be a new man.”

“Wise words from a southerner – you have yet to even take the edge off of that accent,” Alexander said in response, allowing a joking inflection to creep into the edges of his voice.

Thankfully, Daveed laughed at that, one hand waving off Alexander’s words. “Not just a southerner, a Virginian, thank you much.” He tapped his feet on the bars connecting the feet of his chair.

“Such Virginians are birds of a feather; for some reason I’m not surprised,” Alexander shot back from his position on the floor, but the corners of his mouth were pulled upwards into a smile. This was aright. “Although I’ll admit that you would be considered among the better ones I’ve had experience with thus far.” Madison was alright, but they had their times of both cooperation and clashing. He had the utmost expect for Washington, but the man was still much older than himself, easily angered and not exactly the best all around. And, well...he did _not_ want to start on Jefferson, conceited and untrusting, fallen deep into debt and always willing to take advantage of those beneath him, never believing they could be anything more than what they were. A firm believer in the thoughts that all were created equal – or, at least, all white male landowners were. Mocking him for his upbringing, mocking the accent he’d learned over the years to suppress while speaking in a _far_ more infuriating one, only bothering to open his mouth for a scathing remark, passing him off as an affront to fashion that was all _new money_ , instead of having been born into a family rising from generations of abuse and horrific actions and wealth.

Daveed let out a long, drawn-out breath and spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “It’s all I can do, these days, y’know? To try and do something right for once. And that...that’s good, right?” It was almost as though he was pleading, looking for just a little confirmation that he was walking along the right path.

Alexander snorted. “ _Good_ sir, you’ve already improved my day and my spirits tenfold. You can’t be much worse than me.”

“If only you knew, _Lin_ ,” Daveed replied, and while the manner of delivery was gentle and matched right with the tone of their conversation, it seemed to hold a bite within it as he echoed Alexander’s earlier words right back at him. Daveed adjusted the way he was sitting, and when he pulled his legs up to his chest, he had to change the position of his arm to stop himself from spinning around on accident. “Uh. Anyhow, it’s a bit late, wouldn’t you agree? Probably best to cut our chatting and just head off to sleep.”

Alexander didn’t have a pocket watch to refer to, but he agreed anyway, admitting that it was dark enough outside already. “Yes, but if you do have other work to do, then please don’t change your own schedule around me.”

There was a pause, and then Daveed stretched. He wasn’t smiling, but was collected as always. “No, no, I’ve tired myself out. It’s best we just take time to rest, now.”

It was not in Alexander’s intentions to be a cause for disruption, but if that was how Daveed genuinely felt, then he wouldn’t try to change it. “Alright.”

As a meager attempt to make the tiny apartment feel more spacious than it truly was, especially with two people now in it, Daveed pushed the swivel chair back under the desk. Alexander allowed himself to roll over onto his side, ignoring the way his hip bones and left shoulder protested, as Daveed went around readying himself to sleep. A few minutes later, the man strolled back from the bathroom, peeling off his shirt and clicking off the light.

Alexander was sure that he would be disoriented if he was walking and an unfamiliar room was suddenly thrust into darkness, but Daveed had no such issues. Of course he wouldn’t, as this _was_ his home.

There was squeaking, creaking to his right as Daveed clambered into bed. His eyes began to adjust to the low lighting, broken only be the faint glow from outside. Even at night, when things had quieted, there were all of those little noises. The ones he had heard in previous nights, cars passing and people chattering away and music were all still present, but muffled by the outer wall. Beside them, below them, above them, came the noises from other apartments. Footsteps, soft words.

Despite the cacophony, Alexander was asleep in minutes.

* * *

 

It was the state of waking up curled beneath a crumpled sheet that left Alexander disoriented. Unlike waking in the street, he was on his stomach, face nuzzled against a soft, puffy pillow, mat beneath him and blanket twisted around him. He felt more comfortable than he had in the past few days, almost wanted to laugh, because he knew that Eliza was going to wake up and notice he’d stolen the blankets again, would chide him and yank them back-

His head shot up from the pillow, his eyes flew open, and then he groaned and blinked, eyes heavy with sleep and his head bowed downwards. He couldn’t leap out of bed and run to join the fight like he could as a teenager.

But here he was. Bleary-eyed and short hair undoubtedly sticking up, having been mussed with sleep, feeling weakened as though he had been yanked from a dreamless sleep and thrown back into a mortal body that had no business being where it was.

Whatever warm body he imagined in his sleepful state beside him had evaporated into the still, warm air of the apartment. Everything around him seemed to mimic that state – no breeze, no talking, and even the noises outside had receded, albeit still present. Daveed remained asleep, just on the other side of the shelf, but even the man’s breathing was soft and slow.

It was as though he was frozen in time once more.

He propped himself up on his elbows, neck protesting at the movement. What time was it? There was no movement, nary a beat nor a melody besides the soft, rhythmic thumping of his heart.

It was oppressive, thick and hard to breathe through, and when he raised his gaze upwards, the window greeted him with an orange light. The view outside, even from this angle, was nothing but more stone and steel.

Was this the future he faced? Living a second life, kept away from everyone he loved, all for the choices he had made. Living in a world where he was rarely thought of, where he had nothing and could never be what he had grasped before. Where he couldn’t tell anyone who he truly was, where he was taken pity on.

And the fact was, he deserved it.

From what he saw, Washington had left behind a legacy...and others, even Thomas Jefferson, had done the same. And he, as his dear Laurens had aptly put it, was nearly forgotten to the masses. He wanted to cry out, wanted to fight back, but there was nothing that he could do. His fists clenched into the pillow casing.

Were his systems still in place? His beliefs and ideas? Had slavery been abolished from the world, was the economy better than ever, had the country grown and become more than a strip on the edge of a grand continent?

That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Because for all the good he did, where his actions were done to _help_ and _support_ the world he believed in, it wasn’t enough.

No. It _was_ enough. What wasn’t enough was _him_. Because all that he managed to do was hurt others, acting as though there was nothing to lose when he had everything slipping between his fingertips, giving into desire and sin instead of just restraining himself. He wanted to think that so long as he didn’t muddy his good name to the people, what would it matter? He was doing the right thing.

Except he wasn’t. He should have been a good husband and a good father and a good friend, and instead he was a cheater, acting like a monster, a psychopath. What happened behind closed doors was never supposed to mean a thing to anyone around him, and this is what he got for it.

A hic left his chest and tears welled in his eyes. _No_ , he had already gone over this, if he started letting his emotions get to him like this he’d never draw back from it, he’d already had his chance to sit down and get it all out and that was _enough_ -

This time, he just allowed his forehead to fall until it just nearly brushed the pillow as he let out a stuttering, choked sob. He was so focused on the legacy of his contributions that he didn’t stop to wonder what would remain of every other impact he’d held. Daveed just showed that with his comment on letters – what remained of a private life could very well be visible to those who cared to know. So was that how it was, now? The only people who cared to think of bastards like himself were the ones who dug deep into them, saw their mistakes and strokes of a quill writing them as a self-proclaimed villain.

Tears were running freely down his cheeks now, his eyes almost certainly red and puffy. What did people truly know about him? How he rewrote the game, spoke against slavery and built the banks and economy from the ground up? Or that he had found himself _far_ too close with another _man_ , _far_ too close with a woman _not his wife_ , that everyone he cared about seemed to only be dragged behind him in the dirt as he flew non-stop to the top and then fell right back down again. How he allowed himself to run fueled on his drive to be more than he was made to be, destroying his opponents in his anger and desperation.

His eyes were adjusted to the darkness, but even with the faint orange glow his vision was wet and blurred. For all the people who had stood beside – or against – him, he had considered himself...alright. Not perfect, but he was an honorable man, right? And yet here _he_ was. He was so lucky to have Daveed there to bring him up, but he didn’t deserve a lick of it.

A thought tickled at the back of his mind as he swiped the back of his hand over his eyes. Daveed claimed to understand what Alexander had gone through, claimed to nearly have first-hand experience of the time.

Could he be…?

Except he couldn’t be, because he seemed to be helping and providing company just for the hell of it. Because while Alexander had to stay on his toes with everything he said, Daveed was still _miles_ above him, didn’t seem to have the _capacity_ to be hiding something like that, even if he couldn’t tell the truth. Even if he were somehow to do so, Daveed would only then see him as insane, a madman, and he would be thrown back to the street.

The pillowcase was wet with his tears, and it seemed that drying them was futile as his throat choked up and his breathing became ragged. Oh, how pathetic he was. Lying on the floor of someone else’s one-room apartment in a city so far in the future it may as well be foreign, eyes watering and tears falling.

And without thinking, the words bubbled from his chest, dropped from his lips. “I’m so sorry. _So, so sorry_. For...for…”

A shrill, harsh beeping interrupted his thoughts as it played on a loop. It was unnatural, electric, and Daveed let out a dramatic groan as he seemed to fumble to switch it off. Alexander stifled his pitiful noises, clamped one hand firmly over his mouth as he allowed his head to drop into the pillow, one arm above his forehead. Daveed couldn’t know that he had been lying there for who-knows-how-long, sobbing into his borrowed blanket.

As he rushed to try and force himself into silence, shuddering breaths seeming impossibly loud, even now that the silence had been shattered. There was that squeaking once more, of coiled springs or poorly-developed framework, and Daveed was tiredly stumbling to his feet. Alexander felt a shiver run through his body as those footsteps slowed, and he found himself under the distinct impression that the man was staring at his back before finally walking off. Even in the half-light – glowing brighter by the moment as dawn crept nearer and nearer – he seemed to be ready to start his day, albeit reluctant.

Trying not to appear as though he had already been awake, Alexander rubbed at his eyes, hoping that in the poor lighting it would be impossible to tell quite how red and puffy they had become. His cheeks were damp, still, and he tried his best to dry them off before finally rolling over, first onto his back, and then slowly propping himself up on his arms.

Daveed was over by the storage closet that Alexander had noted earlier, although the door concealed his form. Taking his weight off of his arms to instead pull his knees up to his chest, Alexander shifted under the cover, unsure whether it was physically safe to bother another man so early in the morning. Personally, he couldn’t help but imagine that it may just be a better plan to wait for a bit until he was more...lively.

A bet that was likely a safe one as Daveed shut the door and Alexander was left with the realization that he wasn’t wearing much other than his underclothes. He had seen other men change before, of course, especially considering his time spent in the army. Still, things seemed that much...more conservative...these days, and he flushed and turned his head away. He was already impeding enough on the good man’s privacy, considering the situation, he could at the very least offer that. Thankfully enough, Daveed didn’t seem to have noticed that Alexander was awake, and went off back to the bathroom with clothes in his arms. A minute later, the shower turned on.

Noises were picking up outside, cars beeping their horns and footsteps pounding above them as the city woke up, began to ready itself for the day.

Well, he wasn’t going to head back to sleep now. Forcing the red from his cheeks, he clambered to his feet. There was quite a bit yet he was unable to do without waiting for Daveed to finish up, so he instead tried to busy himself with what he _could_ do. He straightened up his little bed, nicely tucking in the corners of the blanket beneath the mat. As he worked to smooth out the crinkles and creases, his mind finally seemed to wake up enough to work something out and formulate a plan.

He hated the idea of bothering Daveed more, but the fact of the matter was that Daveed was the one who knew this world. He had hopes that most of his problems were solvable with research alone, but he also knew that his progress was slow-going. Even with just a little help, hopefully he could find a way to...narrow down his searches and truly put things together. Daveed always seemed to be digging deeper into Alexander, searching for something that he couldn’t see, asking questions and trying to piece together a puzzle.

Well, that could go both ways. Sure, Daveed was probably just trying to get to know him better, especially if they would be sharing an apartment. It was true that Daveed wasn’t trying to awkwardly conceal such a secret as the one Alexander held. But perhaps things could work out if Alexander could adapt to this new world, secure a safe haven, grow and change and create a new career for himself. Ask Daveed questions, learn, seek out help, become someone that could live like this. He could survive, he could build something out of nothing, he could reform.

And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of Daveed’s kindness would rub off on Alexander himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazingly, I've actually got there plot planned from here on out for quite a while! It's still a slow-burn, of course, but we're finally going to be getting some Jamilton that's slightly more...tangible...from here.


	8. Let's Make a Deal

Alexander felt rather...out-of-place in Daveed’s apartment. He couldn’t straighten his sheets forever, considering his little bed was only going to find itself so neat. However, he also wanted to refrain from poking through Daveed’s papers and writings, even if the man was still showering and getting ready for the day.

Therefore, he decided that his very best course of action would be to simply sit down and wait. There really wasn’t any better way to pass the time, in his opinion.

Hence why, despite his disgust, he took a good, long look at the swivel chair tucked underneath the nearby desk before taking one long stride over to it and pulling it out. Daveed probably wouldn’t mind, considering it _was_ just a chair. His only chair, in fact – although, to be fair, he had no use for more. The man lacked both the space and the funds for it.

He glanced over towards the bathroom door, light shining through the gap at the bottom. The apartment remained dark, although the slowly approaching dawn was lighting up the interior well enough for his needs. Deeming the situation acceptable, he jerked his head away and dropped down into the chair, finding it to be just as unimpressive as he had expected. He pulled up his feet just enough to rest them on the legs of the chair, mindlessly allowing himself to swivel a few degrees back and forth while he waited for Daveed to finish up in the bathroom.

Alright. He could see why this might be nice to have. _Not_ for working of course, Lord knows he wouldn’t get a single thing done like this. At least at the library, their chairs were sturdier, heavier, and more reliable. Although, for a cheap investment, this wasn’t that bad. He scooted the chair out slightly more, just enough to have enough space to turn all the way around, and then spun in a full circle.

Okay. Alexander had a little newfound respect for Jefferson, if the man was able to get some work done while using one of these things. It wasn’t quite the same, of course, but the feeling was there. Suppressing a smile, he spun around again – faster, that time – fingers gripping into the edges of his seat.

And of course, that was just the time for Daveed to waltz out of the bathroom, hair less frizzy than usual from the water, and toss his clothes somewhere – a hamper in the closet, it appeared. Alexander jerked to a stop, quickly standing up and folding his hands in front of him as the other man clicked on the overhead light, suppressing a yawn. The chair slowly continued its rotation, now without a passenger. Daveed’s eyes were smiling, twinkling, as he spread his arms and said, “I can see you like my chair.”

Alexander blushed while Daveed laughed, and while he still looked tired, wanting to get back to sleep – he was more composed, but his eyes were still half-lidded, his stance loose – he seemed to be a little happier.

Finally, his laughter died down, and he shrugged. “Well, I like it too. That’s why I bought it. But...” His smile faded, just slightly, and he broke eye contact as he turned his head away. “Er, I didn’t realize you were up.” He raised his pitch at the end of the sentence, not quite questioning but as though he were trying to force a casual tone. “So goodmorning.”

“Goodmorning,” Alexander echoed, smoothing out his borrowed shirt as he rocked on his heels. Daveed walked over into his kitchenette, opening a sparse cabinet and pulling out a lone mug. Alexander couldn’t help but notice how...empty it was, really only holding the base necessities. The two bowls from the previous night sat together.

“Do you want anything for breakfast?” Daveed asked him as he dropped a little pouch into his cup, walking over to the sink and filling it up with water from the tap.

“Oh, no thank you, I don’t need anything!” Alexander hurriedly insisted, shaking his head. Politeness was key if both parties were kind, but while he _was_ hungry – some people never could eat right after waking, but he was not one of them – he also refused to be more of a burden than he already was. Daveed was _too_ nice, _too_ kind, and although he didn’t doubt the man’s generosity, there was that underlying fear that he would betray it and take things too far.

Daveed set his cup into another...cupboard? And when he pressed on the side, it beeped. A light turned on and the cup started rotating – cookware, no doubt, although he couldn’t even begin to fathom what exactly it was doing. He unconsciously straightened his shoulders when Daveed turned to look back at him, trying to gauge the man’s reaction and pull something from his expression. He appeared...knowing, and Alexander knew that he himself likely did not, considering he was ogling the cup. But, Daveed didn’t say anything, instead just leaning against the countertop, looking subdued.

Alexander couldn’t blame him. It was early, after all. It was relaxed, still quieter than the height of the day, peaceful-

He yelped when Daveed tossed a banana at him, fumbling to catch it. “You may not _need_ anything, but you might _want_ somethin’.” Alexander couldn’t deny that. “‘Sides...you’re already a wreck. I don’t want to have anythin’ extra to do with that.”

Well. Alexander could _try_ to deny that much – that he was _not_ a wreck, instead perfectly composed and just about as good as he was going to get – but in a sense, it was true. Feeling a little awkward, setup on a pedestal, he finally chose to simply take a seat back on the chair, beginning to peel his banana.

Thankfully, Daveed turned away for his cup when a loud, high-pitched beeping emanated from the machine. Alexander curiously looked up at his motions, wanting to see exactly what the point of his actions were – but his attention was yanked away when he took a bite of his fruit.

It tasted...fresh. Well, not perfectly so – there was a certain something just barely _off_ about it, as though it had been preserved, and then nearly restored to its original state. Perhaps a few days into ripening, too.

But it was sweet, and the texture reminded him of the bananas growing in the Caribbean islands. A shining speck of his childhood, one of many that had been lost as he’d grown.

He was almost fifty. Well, not anymore, considering his new form was younger, late thirties. But _before_...how long had it been? How many years had passed since he’d last eaten truly fresh fruit from the tropics? Yes, he considered himself to be a well-dressed man, but even setting aside the funds to pay for it and living in a coastal city, such fruit would be a luxury. And Daveed had tossed it at him like it was nothing, and it lacked the distinctions that would betray its journey on a ship to the market stalls. And a banana, especially – they just...weren’t eaten in America! He knew it likely meant nothing to Daveed, was just another something to eat, but to see it so readily available, even to someone poor, budget tight, and given to him for breakfast...

He pushed away the thoughts of another common plant – fruit, vegetable, however one wished to class it – that had gained traction. The tomato, something Jefferson boasted about growing when so few others did. Horrifying guests by happily eating them during dinner parties. No, he was not going to allow such a heathen to continue to influence his happy thoughts. Instead, he took another, larger bite of his banana.

When he looked up, he saw Daveed looking at him, the tiniest of smiles gracing his lips. Then, their eyes connected, and Daveed cleared his throat and adjusted his stance. Alexander noted he was clutching his cup by the handle, steam wafting from the liquid. “So. Lin. Uh, do you have a plan for the day?”

He snorted. Oh, he had one, if only it were a little more tangible and less...dependent on influences not necessarily inside of his control. However, he wasn’t going to let that slow him, new that it would be strange if he acted outside of normalcy – yes, he was older, subdued, not quite as ready to leap into a battle to the death as he had been as a teenager. But...that fire wasn’t gone. He picked his chin up, eyes dull, but something managing to reflect within them. “Of course I do!” Daveed raised an eyebrow, prompting him, and he continued, “The other day I got my hands on a library card. Borrowing books is a benefit, of course,” he remembered the woman at the front desk explaining it. “But not having to pay for computer time is, quite frankly, the reprise I’ve been needing. It limits how long I can work, yes, but I just don’t have the funding to be throwing around money when I could be using it better instead.” A good way to say that he was desperately needing a job.

Daveed nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right on it there.”

Validated by Daveed’s confirmation, he continued, “And I need to use that to the best of my ability. The world’s not fair, whether it be helping some or disposing of others.” God, he knew that well. “And if I am given such a handout, then I will take it. And, well...I have found it difficult to bring what I need in order to fully qualify, even for the poorest-paying jobs. I lack degrees or trade certificates on my person to show, or job experience I can prove myself having. I just…” he felt Daveed’s stare burning him, but ignored it. “This is very different from...from my home country, and much of the culture and devices here are unfamiliar to me. It is a difficult adjustment.” He was careful to keep his voice from wavering, chasing away emotion, and keeping with his lie. In an attempt to look unbothered, he took another bite of his banana, disappointed to realize that he had nearly eaten it all already.

And yet to his surprise, Daveed sighed and nodded. “Trust me. I...I know how hard it can be. Well, not coming from another country, but sometimes it feels that way.” He looked as though he almost wanted to reach out to Alexander, but restrained himself.

The taller man offered nothing more, and Alexander stifled a sigh of his own. “Well. I’m going to start with the least qualification-heavy jobs, I suppose. Explain away my lack of work experience as immigration, or something. I’ll find a way, as I always somehow manage to do. I made an email to help with applications, the other day, and the less...fanciful the job, the less call there is for a complex grouping of papers and such, it seems. I, ah, don’t have anyway to...er, even if I was to apply in person I happen to be lacking in a phone, for them to contact me through.” Such was the truth.

“Lin? Here’s an idea,” Daveed started, pulling out an old phone – well, it certainly looked like a phone, although it wasn’t of the style many people in the streets were using, being in two distinct segments with hard keys over a flat screen, something he vaguely recognized from his time in the library reading up on the modern day. “This is, ah, pre-paid, so I’ve already bought an allotted time for however many minutes I need to spend using it to talk with others. But I don’t call very often, only message. Want to make another deal?”

Alexander wanted to. It would certainly help lift a little guilt off of his shoulders, feeling as though he weren’t merely living off of generosity and instead making a trade. But, there remained the unfortunate fact that he wasn’t quite sure he could pay for it right away. His mouth pulled into a frown and tentatively he replied, “Perhaps we can try.”

Daveed waved his little phone around, Alexander following it with his eyes before deciding that such an action would only serve to leave him with a headache, instead taking another bite of his banana. “Well, since we have such similar schedules and you’re staying with me – you can put down my phone number, if you need one, and get any job offers that call you back. As temporary as you need it to be, yeah?”

He took a bite of his banana. The last bite, in fact, and he was left holding the empty peel in one hand. Chewed, swallowed, and then answered. “Yeah.”

Daveed’s eyes lit up again, and he took a long sip of his drink before saying, “Perfect.” Despite the awareness growing over his features, it was clear that he was still not quite totally awake as he suddenly set the cup down, raising his free hand to his mouth and yawning loudly.

He was still tired, Alexander realized, and likely not used to conversing so early in the morning. A small whirl of guilt – only a soft whisper compared to what he had done, but recent and harsh nonetheless – nipped at his mind, shaming him. At the same time, in a flash of embarrassment, Daveed suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing as he moved to reclaim his drink. Alexander blinked at the...down-to-earth state of the action, and that hushed voice of guilt seemed to ask him to watch Daveed and see the burden he was.

Alexander met that voice head on, brushing it away as he spoke to the man standing before him, “Ah, sorry for...intruding like this. I’m sure it’s rather early for you.”

Daveed just gave him a weak smile in response. “Don’t worry about it. I get up so early because it takes me an hour to get ready...and normally half of that is spent sitting at my desk with tea, trying to wake up. But it lets me collect my thoughts and head out on time for the library to open,” he admitted.

That was a feeling that Alexander could relate to. Well, not completely. He was more of an early-riser, personally, and while he could consider some meetings a bit poorly-timed for his tastes, he was sharp-minded in the mornings.

And often enough, they were even early enough for him to slip back between the covers next to Eliza after his business was complete, before the children had woken up for the day and everything remained still.

No, the reason he could relate was more to taking the time to straighten his swirling thoughts, going from standing in the midst of a hurricane, winds yanking and tugging at his shivering form, to standing in the eye, a singular goal.

Instead of trying to show Daveed his thoughts, instead of explaining why he understood, he snorted in amusement. “Tea? You should know that drinking coffee is more patriotic.”

“Ah, yes, I believe America made that plenty clear with the Boston Tea Party,” Daveed replied. “Dressing up in feathers and tribal wear and rushing to throw the stock into the water.”

Alexander knew plenty about that. He couldn’t claim to be a participant; while he’d arrived in Boston from the Caribbean in 1772, he’d left for New York soon after. However, word of it had travelled fast. Still, he shrugged, motioning back to Daveed’s drink, what he assumed to be some sort of tea. “And yet here you are.”

Daveed rolled his eyes. “It’s cheaper. I...I don’t have many savings, and this is...well, one of my few indulgences. Budgeting is difficult, and there isn’t much room in my plans, especially as I am not very good with money…”

Alexander hummed, thoughtful, before looking up at Daveed. He stood, noting the other man’s eyes on him as he walked over to the trash bin to deposit the banana peel. “You’ve proposed some deals to me, so how about I do the same? Obviously at the moment, there’s not much physical that I can offer you. But you’ve admitted that you have difficulty managing your finances, and I’ve admitted that such a thing is the one bit that I can do. So I ask for a trade – until I have secured a job and pay, I’ll help you out wherever I can. Balance your payments and expenditures, help manage things, anything you want help with. And once I do have pay, although it won’t be as much as yours, I will contribute my part.”

Daveed tipped his head, thinking, and then looked back to Alexander with a gentle expression. “Alright. With the both of us working together, to pay rent, utilities...I can see that. We’ll both walk away with more at the end of the day.”

“Yes!”

“And I’ll even share a little secret with you from the start,” Daveed added. Interest piqued, Alexander lifted his head, looking expectantly up at the other man who stooped down just enough to reach his level, despite there only being a few inches difference between them. Finally, he continued, “I’ll help you get set up with what funds you have, and we’ll go from there, okay? While I certainly don’t mind you wearing my clothing, I’m also bigger than you, and it’ll probably be better to have somethin’ that you fit into more. And besides, I think we’ve got...different tastes in style,” he added, gaze falling down Alexander’s body from his face.

Alexander shivered as Daveed looked him over, and then cracked a smile. “Perhaps, but in the meantime, ill-fitting clothing will not be the cause of my death. If anything, it will be boredom on its own that does it.”

Daveed laughed, straightening back up to his full height and jerking his chin towards the desk. “I can imagine, considering I came out of the shower to see you spinning ‘round on that chair.”

“I, uh, suppose you have me with that,” Alexander admitted, an almost embarrassed chuckle escaping him.

Daveed appeared thoughtful, and then he lifted a hand, clapping Alexander on the shoulder before pulling away and taking a few long strides away from him. Alexander lifted one of his own hands, fingers trailing over the fabric Daveed had touched, before he turned to see what the man was up to. “Pardon, but exactly what are you doing…?”

He looked down, confused, as Daveed crouched to the floor and leaned his chest over the mat on the floor, pushing books and papers aside while rummaging through the contents of the bookshelf. Alexander rocked forward onto his toes, craning his neck to get a better view of Daveed’s actions, and then suddenly fell back onto his heels as the other man pulled back. The only thing he was able to manage was an unexpectant blink as Daveed reached up to him, a simple notebook clutched in his fingers.

It had a black and white, marbled cover, a blank shape in the top center pronouncing it to be a “composition notebook” of sorts. Lines on the front gave a convenient place to claim possession of the book, or to help organize it by subject matter. Daveed looked up at him expectantly, and he took it, the other man getting to his feet a moment after, saying, “I got the impression you like to write. And who could blame ya?”

“I...I do,” he admitted, still staring down at the notebook with wide eyes.

Daveed smiled. “Well, it’s just a composition book, but I can only hope that it’s enough for you, for the time being. Write...well, write whatever you want to. Write about your day, your plans, things you don’t want to forget. Write letters to people you used to know. That helped me out when...well, when I came to terms with the fact that there were a lot of old friends I wasn’t going to be seeing again, anytime soon.”

Alexander’s eyes jumped to his face, searching for some meaning behind those words, but all he saw was resignment. He made a note to file that away and ask Daveed what he meant later – if he didn’t mind discussing it, of course. A flicker of sadness jumped across Daveed, but then was gone, and Alexander looked down to the notebook once more. “I just might try that. Thank you...thank you a lot.”

Daveed reached forward again to touch his shoulder, this time holding his touch, allowing his warmth to sink into Alexander’s skin. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daveed is probably violating the terms of his lease somehow with this, but, y'know, it'll be alright. His landlord doesn't really care and he's too awkward to talk to his neighbors.
> 
> Anyway, I finally found a good method that works for me when writing, and got out a chapter slightly faster than usual! Hopefully in the future, I'll be able to update much more often, haha. We'll have to see how the fall semester goes, since it starts in early August for me. But, I'm especially excited for some of the upcoming chapters!


	9. Letters and Stories

A few days later, and Alexander was writing a letter nightly. The lined pages of his notebook kept each sentence perfectly spaced – not that he needed the help, of course. And, despite using a cheap pen that Daveed had lent him, his words flowed freely over the paper, never stalling or pausing to dip a quill into ink. If he were to speak truthfully, he would claim that the time saved by not needing to replenish his ink supply greatly increased his output; he could have used an invention such as this back in the 1700s!

Over the past several days, his free time had evaporated into research and work. It had taken a sizeable bite of his now nearly-nonexistent funding, mostly going towards a pathetic attempt to build a foundation of supplies he’d later need, as well as buying extra computer time. It had been days of brain-numbing, often-futile searches as he dug through pages and pages of information available on the web.

Setting up accounts, planning for future checks to cash, searching for records, birth certificates, numbers that he was grasping at straws to provide. He should know this, it shouldn’t be an issue! Daveed helped him where he could, but there was only so much the man could do – and it only took a quick look at his unfortunately blank résumé to see that his only real hope was submitting as many applications to the lowest of low jobs and praying to God that something would come of it.

Assuming he could obtain a job? Well, he was prepared for that. Budgets, plans, what needed to be bought, what could be skipped out on. What they were desperately lacking, and how to combat that. They had made a deal, and they were going to keep to it. While there was a lot to learn, he could at least work with the resources he had and answer _that_.

The real question was, truthfully, how far his new “persona” extended. He was Lin-Manuel Miranda, as far as anyone was concerned! Was there some way to find previous work experience? Pull a college degree out of thin air? Did he even have any records to go upon that documented his existence, or was he practically barred from even claiming to be a citizen? In frustration, he pressed down a little harder onto the paper than he normally would, grip tight. Still, his words continued, the contents of the letter one-sided as rain pattered down onto the leadgings and roofings above.

After all, it wasn’t as though he could expect a response. His friend was long-dead. And yet, his writings began just as they always had, familiar as ever.

_Dear Edward,_

_Whether there is a possibility of clause to dictate you may ever be privy to the contents of the letter I write this evening, I may find hope within myself to someday deliver such a message in person unto you. It is a weak pinpoint of interest that may convince myself of such a fleeting chance, but if my mission may hold true, then logicality builds a foundation of explanation that tells of, eventually, finding us laying a passing greeting in the afterlife together. While I must only assume that there is a likelihood that I may repent, it is under recommendation from a trusted involved party that I continue my past hobbies and make peace with the circumstances of these current days through my writings._

_And yet, Ned, a case such as the one I am under in these present times is not the reasoning behind my recounting of events to you. In truth, I only have interest to create a momentary remembrance of times now. As it stands, I have awoken within the past two weeks into a time that bears little resemblance I may relate to our own, with the specified constraints small, but load-bearing – I cannot utter my own name. And I might assure you that I have since attempted such an activity, only to find it truthfully, inconceivably impossible. And for with the aforementioned “trusted party” I have made fragile peace with, a Virginian of higher ideals than a number I have previously worked with (albeit with exceptions as there would be), I have enlisted assistance from in such a manner that may pertain to a future less bleak than the present day._

_With such a matter in mind, it may be of bitter entertainment to you to find that despite your numerous chastizings claiming that it would be of necessity for my health to be improved – for who better to judge my lifestyle than both a childhood friend and a physician and diplomat who clearly finds an ability to far surpass my present lifespan on his own? – I have since met my end in death. Yet, the new form I have found my soul and consciousness to reside within remains of fantastic stride, younger and similarly brighter than ever before! I once wrote to you that I would be nought to bequeath my character to the relentless march of time but rather my life, should it bring of greater effect than what resources and fortunes I was initially allowed. And while I am still no philosopher, I cannot but surmise that this is but another opportunity to extend the time which I so frivolously brushed aside._

He chuckled underneath his breath as he worked onwards. He couldn’t claim to have a fortunate childhood – having lost what few chances he had to death, despair, and greed. His mother, cousin, uncle, all meeting their fate one by one. But he was _lucky_ to have been taken in by the Stevens after everything that occurred, he was so _grateful_ that they had done such a thing, for it had led to a blossoming friendship with Ned. A friend, practically an adopted brother, who shared an interest in medicine and abolitionism. And that same friend had always chastised him over a fragile health – but if only he had known that Alexander would meet his end so soon, only to be reincarnated. There was a level of irony to it all that he could only find amusing in a twisted, foul sort of way.

The door opened. Alexander snapped his head up, not out of distrust, but merely attentiveness as Daveed walked in. It was rare that Alexander would sit in his apartment totally alone; after all, there was still a slight barrier of hesitation, wasn’t there? They didn’t really _know_ each other. But that day, they had already been heading back to the apartment when Daveed realized he’d forgotten something back at the library. He’d tossed his keys to Alexander – an action that shocked him, surprised to see so much trust placed within him so quickly – and turned around. And while Alexander had made it home (when had he started thinking of that cramped studio apartment as home? It must just have been because he continued to sleep on the floor there, something that was not exactly doing wonders for his back) before the rains began, it appeared that Daveed was not quite as lucky. In contrast with a meeting from days ago, Daveed teasing Alexander over how he was wet from the rains, it was this time Alexander who laughed and said, “You appear a bit damp.”

Daveed grumbled, patting at his dripping hair and grimacing. “It’s _raining_ outside. Right now it’s just a lil’ casual, normal rain. Earlier it was _downpouring_ on me. I should have just abandoned those notes I left, but at least they’re dry still.”

Alexander snorted. “Is it really that bad? You’re wearing a coat.”

Daveed let out a long breath, walking over to where Alexander was seated – the desk chair, notebook spread out before him – and shrugged off his jacket. “Well, uh, I...I guess it rains more in Virginia,” he admitted, draping his coat over the seat backing. “But it’s also not quite as cold, even in July,” he added on as an afterthought.

Personally, Alexander thought that the weather was fine. It was certainly cooler than his childhood home, but in time, he’d grown used to it. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion, responding with a raised eyebrow and a not-particularly sympathetic tone of voice. “Haven’t you been living here for quite some time, now? And besides, I found it plenty easy to adjust to.” One hand fiddled with the corners of his current page.

To his surprise, Daveed shot his words right back at him. “But haven’t you only been here for mere days, supposedly? I don’t think it’s your place to judge. If anything...I’d rather know how you believe to know more.” It wasn’t an accusation, but rather a suggestion, staring down at Alexander through thick eyelashes and half-parted lips.

Alexander couldn’t really respond without revealing a flaw or hesitation in his carefully-crafted story. Daveed had been _so_ kind in putting up with him for as long as he already had, while Alexander worked tirelessly to sort out his position, and he didn’t want to spark discord in their alliance. Instead, he just carefully blew on the papers before him. They should be dry, but he refused to take chances, giving them a moment to rest before setting down his pen onto the table with a _click_. Daveed hadn’t pushed much further into his personal story, something Alexander was immensely thankful for, but he was worried for when the time would come that such a thing would change.

Daveed adjusted his coat on the backing so that Alexander wouldn’t be pressing his dry clothes against it – although with his posture as it was, that was unlikely enough – and brushed one hand along his spine as he withdrew. Alexander’s eyes flicked towards him with the sensation, but the other man had already stepped away, and he dropped the matter. Instead, he allowed his gaze to skim over his written words, mentally chastising himself when he realized he had forgotten to add the date in the corner. He had yet to sign his letter, of course, but he wasn’t quite positive that he was done with what words he had for Ned at the time.

In the background, he heard the rushing of water as Daveed stood at the kitchenette sink, filling a glass. It was a small motion, one that most people wouldn’t think much of, but Alexander continued to marvel at how simplistic it was to draw clean, drinkable water from a tap in moments. As his mind wandered into a territory awed by even the tiniest of innovations, Daveed took a sip, conversationally grabbing Alexander’s attention to motion towards his notebook. “Filling that up pretty fast, aren’t ya?”

Alexander shrugged. “I have been...preserving space in the book by limiting myself to but a few pages nightly. Although I suppose I can admit that I work at a hastened pace compared to most...” He always had, hadn’t he?

Daveed snorted, setting his half-full (or was it half-empty?) glass on the counter. “I’m sure you’re startin’ to get annoyed at all my historical parallels, but let me tell you – there were some people who did just that. Writin’ like...like they knew their death was coming, like they were seven steps from the end, like they were running out of time to finish their grand plans.”

He wanted to sigh aloud, proclaim that he knew exactly what Daveed was talking about, but instead merely shrugged once more. “Oh? Who?”

“Plenty of people. Alexander Hamilton, for example.”

His head jerked up at that. “Alright?” He hadn’t expected to hear Daveed go off about...well, himself. While there was a smidge of concern tainting his thoughts, he couldn’t help but wonder what Daveed had to say about the subject. Tapping his feet against the flat floor, he raised his eyebrows as a prompt for the other man to start talking. And, when Daveed continued, it started out innocuous enough.

“Well...I...he just wrote a lot, I suppose. He was just a college student when he wrote _A Full Vindication of the Measures of Congress_ as a response to a Loyalist’s _Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress_. Two weeks and he threw together a biting thirty-five page response. And then the same guy snapped back with _A View of the Controversy,_ and by the next month Hamilton had _A Farmer Refuted._  And I mean, that really kicked off his writing career, but supposedly as a kid he was already writing poetry and crazy letters ‘n stuff. It was how he got enough attention on ‘im to even fund his move to America in the first place.”

The corner of Alexander’s mouth quirked into a frown. He remembered the very note that had done such a thing.

_The roaring of the sea and wind, fiery meteors flying about it in the air, the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning, the crash of the falling houses, and the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed, were sufficient to strike astonishment into Angels. A great part of the buildings throughout the Island are levelled to the ground, almost all the rest very much shattered; several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined; whole families running about the streets, unknowing where to find a place of shelter; the sick exposed to the keeness of water and air without a bed to lie upon, or a dry covering to their bodies; and our harbours entirely bare._

He had cried out to God in his letter, spitting in the face of death and proclaiming that he had followed every commandment, prayed for something, _anything_ , and had been given nothing but pain and devastation in response. Until then, the winds had finally cleared, the groans and sobs of the injured and dying swirling around him.

A manifestation of his fears, the moment that he realized he was truly and utterly _alone_. The moment he understood that each plead to heaven fell upon deaf ears, never to be heard or answered.

_I am afraid, Sir, you will think this description more the effort of imagination than a true picture of realities. But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that there is not a single circumstance touched upon, which I have not absolutely been an eye witness to._

He blinked away long since passed memories, attempting to tune his thoughts and focus back to Daveed. He couldn’t allow himself to settle on old phobias and traumas.

“And then as he got older, we got him writing essays to support the Federalist Papers. Fifty-one essays in the span of only six months.” Daveed let out an almost joking, low whistle as he tapped his fingers against the sides of his cup, and Alexander tried to smile back with laughter, that joy never reaching his eyes.

“You...sound like you know a lot about him,” he gulped out, fiddling with the cap of the pen. Sure, there had been plenty of people who had dug into the dirt of his past, or had followed his every move as a political figure, but it was...almost surreal, to sit beside someone talking about his writings.

“You could say that.” A pause. “Er, his writings and stuff were well-preserved,” Daveed then added, a dismissive wave of his hand brushing away Alexander’s thoughts. “Thousands of letters to read through in archives, letters I’d never seen before from him. To his close friend Edward-”

“Neddy,” Alexander murmured beneath his breath. It was who he’d been writing to that night – glancing up at Daveed, he used one hand to gently shut his notebook. Fortunately, the other man seemed to have been paying no attention, just continuing to prattle on.

“-as a young man, calling for war and claiming that he would do anything to get ahead, risking life and limb to further himself. And then later on – an even _closer_ friend, although perhaps in a different way – John Laurens.”

Alexander’s heart fell in his chest as the realization hit him.

He’d held on to many of their letters for years upon years, and more than a few of them had been...he truly hesitated to use the word “raunchy”, but while the worst of them had been burned with Lauren’s death, he couldn’t bring himself to give every one up. His words expressive, adorative. He’d hidden what he’d kept, but he had nothing planned for what to do with them in the event of his sudden death.

Did people...know? That he was a...a sinner, a _sodomite…_ “W-what do you mean by that?” The words tumbled from his lips.

Expression neutral, Daveed took another sip of his water before continuing. “Well, just of the letters they exchanged. Laurens never seemed to write much, to the point of Hamilton chastising him for it, even then mostly sticking to simple events. But, as always, Hamilton replied with long and complex notes. After all, wasn’t it through his words that he built fantasies other fell to believe? That he wasn’t an instigator or an antagonist, or how he wooed his wife Elizabeth. Or, how he spoke to his ‘friend’.”

His gaze wasn’t focused on Alexander, fortunate as he clenched his fist outside of the other’s view. He had always hoped to live down in memory, but that was with a legacy of accomplishment built, not through his personal aspirations – whether it may be love, hate, or lust. And that spoke the question: clearly, he had not been completely forgotten. But he had not been remembered as he had hoped, as a pinnacle of achievement to be cried of by the masses, and he did not find his heart cheering at the thought. Instead, he was a...a point of casual interest for those whose job was to dig through the pages of history and pick out those who are just a grand as others, but not as settled in the public eye. “Surely nothing concrete has been proven? Being a...a sodomite, it’s a death sentence! A capital offense throughout the colonies.”

Daveed laughed, and Alexander couldn’t help but notice that it was almost bitter. “I guess only Hamilton and Laurens themselves could ever confirm whether they were lovers. Because you’re right – it...it would be dangerous, they’d have been required to take utmost precautions. For Hamilton, at least, something like that coming out...it wouldn’t just destroy his legacy, it could easily lead to his death as well.”

Alexander’s head was bowed, and he turned around in the chair to face the wall. He couldn’t bear to look back at Daveed, for the simple reasoning that the other man seemed to be speaking offhandedly, but the words affected him far more than the other must have understood. The fact was, Daveed summed up the situation well. Alexander had taken chances, bonded with Laurens, grown closer than any friend he’d had before – if Neddy was an honorary brother, Jack was an honorary soulmate.

And Laurens’ death had devastated him. Each letter had been so effusive, every moment spent together...not joy, but a mutual presence, knowing that they would have each other’s backs. Then, John had left for South Carolina alone, Alexander’s attempts to be transferred alongside him ignored. And there Laurens had died, finding his final resting place a mockery of everything he stood for, troops that had yet to be informed of the changing tide and new orders gunning him down.

Lost and drowning in memories, he hardly registered when Daveed returned to speak once more. “I’ve...I’ve heard it described that Laurens was the one man that Alexander revealed his true interior life to, never forming friendships easily, such a close bond unmatched. And that...well, when he died, Hamilton shut away some...compartment of his emotions, a box locked deep within the recesses of his mind. And it was never opened again. So I suppose that settles things as far as we can know.”

“R-right…” Alexander responded, vaguely noticing the way his knuckles had gone white and sparks of discomfort had begun to shoot through his arm. “Ah, I suppose it does.”

A pause, and Alexander heard Daveed take a long drink before placing his glass down, likely next to the sink. Self-consciousness overcame him, thoughts swirling over what he’d heard.

“Besides all of that, his surviving family took care of any particularly incriminating letters,” Daveed explained dismissively. “Marking out anything to sully Hamilton’s...I hesitate to say good name, but I’m sure he would have thought of it that way.” While his explanation was quick and more of an addition than a continuation, Alexander sagged in his seat ever-so-slightly, running one hand through his hair. Perhaps it really was treated more like a far-fetched theory these days. Silence filled the air between him, and Daveed must have felt discomfort at that, for he added a final note to the end, “But these days, it doesn’t matter anyway. Some people might not accept it, but it’s not a...a crime for men or women to love each other.”

Alexander jerked up to look over his shoulder, but did not turn to face Daveed quite yet. “Huh?”

The other man looked at him almost knowingly, and Alexander shrank down under that gaze. What did he think he knew that left him with a relaxed expression that spoke of tellings Alexander didn’t understand? “Back then, a man lying with another man in a...romantic, and sexual way? That gets you killed. But these days, at least where we are now...well, you can do that. Euh, maybe not _you_ specifically, but, generally, people.” Alexander noted the way his clenched hands were leaving red marks on his pants, his heart beating hard in his chest and mind crying out with the new information even while Daveed chattered along behind him. “Although if you _are_ , uh, a homosexual, or bisexual, or something else...I won’t judge you, right? And that really applies to anything, any wild ideas or concepts you want to tell me. Seriously.” There was that pleading whisper once more, subtext extending the question that Daveed wanted him to answer: _who_ was he, Lin?

Alexander raised his head slightly to look out the window. Rain continued to drip over the glass, blurring his view of the outside. He could hardly find the ability within himself to speak aloud, murmuring, “Quite the change.” There had been hopes in years past that he had rarely tangiblized, thoughts pleading for a world in which he might have the opportunity to express his feelings. But then he had met Eliza, and after John’s memories were no longer constant on his waking mind, such opinions had never been forgotten, but less voiced.

“...Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that.”

Alexander snapped out of his fogged thoughts. “No, no, refrain from apologizing! I don’t mind...hearing these stories. Of these people, their lives. Um, although perhaps we could switch topics.” He braced one hand against the desk, turning around in the chair to face Daveed again. It was not the time to think over those repercussions; that was something best saved for the quiet moments in the earliest hours of dawn. “Speak of someone else. Surely there are other men worthy of note – George Washington, the Marquis de Lafayette, I’ll even hear of Thomas Jefferson at this point. I’m sure even _he_ had a number of...interesting letters of note.” Alexander could say with near certainty that Jefferson wasn’t a man ever in danger of an accusation of sodomy, yet he still couldn’t claim to know much of his personal life. While digging into his life’s story for accusatory material, he didn’t seem to be very...interesting. The man was brilliant, he couldn’t lie; he had an impressive schooling history. But his personality? Reserved, rarely speaking for mere chatter. Hobbies? Playing the violin. Had an uneventful marriage (although Alexander had never met Jefferson’s wife – apparently, she had passed soon after his own marriage to Eliza), with a few daughters. He seemed almost...shallow, standing on a plateau of legacy and importance and old money that he waved over Alexander’s head.

Daveed trailed one finger over the rim of his cup. “Hah, I can say that it is of my own personal opinion that his letters were less interesting that you’re imagining. He _did_ correspond with lovers, but there were no...scandals of the time revealed within them.” Alexander chewed on his cheek, wondering whether Daveed was referring to Laurens...or to _another_ woman. Or if there was something more... _interesting_ that Daveed was neglecting to tell him. “Many of those writings weren’t particularly grand. A lengthy letter correspondence with James Madison on the best meat for barbecue – he preferred venison, while Madison liked smaller game, to go with smoky flavors.”

Rising to his feet, Alexander replaced the pen back into its small holder on the desk and scooped his notebook into his arms. The rain continued to patter down outside, although he noted the sky had grown a little darker with the approaching night. “The pinnacle of conversation, it seems. If _that’s_ what he wrote his friend, I shudder at what the writings between him and his wife must have been like.”

Where earlier it had been Alexander who had fallen into silence as Daveed spoke, now, he found himself in the reverse. Should be backpedal? Rescind his statement? Daveed’s hand had dropped from his glass, instead resting tensely against his still ever-so-slightly-damp shirt – his jacket must have been completely soaked through. “Daveed, I’m sorry if that was-”

“No, no, just trying to...think of a story for that,” Daveed hurriedly replied, Alexander’s brow furrowing. “I-I mean, he burnt many of their letters when she died. Because...he wanted to forget about her.”

“What?” The war hadn’t ended until ‘83; Jefferson’s short-lived marriage had began and finished before Alexander had gone into office. But short-lived as it must have been, and as customary as it could be to burn letters, surely the man didn’t just wish to forget that decade had ever happened? He was single for as long as Alexander had known him, with some flings, some longer relationships, but never finding another wife.

“Her death...affected him a lot. She made him promise never to marry again – so that another woman would not raise her children. And she was always sickly, her own mother having died young, and he…” Daveed had to stop for a moment before he continued, “he _might_ have thought part of her death by fault of his own, with such frequent childbirth having harmed her further…”

Alexander was only aware of Jefferson’s two daughters to have lived to adulthood, and he vaguely wondered if the man had other children, and how many. Sons or daughters that had died when they were young. Or even...illegitimate children with the short-term lovers he’d taken to bed over the years.

“Thomas was distraught.” Alexander noted the use of the man’s first name – that was a little familiar, wasn’t it? “Grief-stricken, for weeks. Pacing about, sobbing, mind hurt as he broke himself to the point of exhaustion and collapse. He...when he finally forced himself to break away to recover, he remained in seclusion. Violent bursts of grief addling his mind, spending his days heavy-hearted, walking out through the countryside beside his eldest daughter.”

Daveed was staring at the floor, posture as loose as ever, and Alexander turned his focus back to the window, the rain a little heavier than before. It seemed to come in groups and bursts, moving from a downpour to a light sprinkle to the former once again, while all the while his mind wandered. As long as he had known Jefferson, the man had shown himself to be a brilliant lawyer, a diplomat, and while Alexander might have been brought to the point of wishing to rip out his own hairs in frustration over him, he seemed perfectly capable in _some_ ways. Nothing holding him back as he pushed his agenda. Rarely did he see an air of discomfort and sadness that might have pointed towards such an effect; the man seemed content, albeit standing apart from others.

“The days of his marriage were the happiest of his life,” Daveed continued, Alexander turning to look back at him. “She was an avid reader, just as he; she would play gorgeous songs on the piano, with his accompaniment on violin or cello. It was wonderful. And, well...after she was gone, he couldn’t bear to face a life which would be nothing but a fall downhill, a life in which he’d met his soulmate and lost her. So instead, he created an illusion of a life where she’d never existed at all.” Daveed’s voice wavered.

Alexander felt a stab in his chest at that, having to wonder: how many did the same? Had Eliza, a woman so strong and wishing to be apart of the great story that would surely once be told of his name, chosen to deny his existence after death? Take another husband? He had never considered the thought before, scraping his fingernail against the pointed edge of the desk.

“He found other people to keep his bed warm, eventually, even if for only short times. He found love again. But I guess...I guess despite everything, those initial days of grief, his cries of pain, a depressiveness that spread through his mind…” Alexander’s eyes widened as he saw tears gathering at the corners of the other’s eyes, and Dabeed sucked in a breath, expression contorted. “Some days, it was too much to bear.”

He was _crying_. Alexander couldn’t deal with that – he was emotionally stunted enough, the type of person who saw one of his children crying after being pushed to the ground and calmly told them that their injury was nothing, that they were fine, and simply needed to stand back up and brush it off. But Daveed wasn’t a child, and in speaking of the loss of...Martha – if he was recalling her name correctly – it had tugged at his heart just the wrong way. Almost hesitantly, Alexander took a step forward, concern thick in his voice as he softly asked, “Did you...did you lose someone like that?”

Daveed raised his hand to his cheek, trying to swipe away the first tears beginning to slip over his skin. “Y-you could say that…” He winced. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be- shouldn’t be...acting like this.” He rubbed at one eye, grimacing even as his eyes watered.

Alexander’s shoulder’s fell and he rocked on his feet as he watched Daveed, the rain drumming against the side of the building with a particularly strong gust of wind. It wasn’t a storm, but rather an average day’s rain, thrumming harder and providing a calming background noise. He set down his notebook onto his little mat on the floor, straightening up and moving slightly closer. “Daveed. You...you should _not_ apologize for acting...human. If you lost someone, _anyone_ , a wife, a friend...” Against his better judgement, he took another step forward, and then another, until he stood just before the other man, head tipped slightly back so that he could look up into the other’s eyes.

Daveed couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s...it’s not just that.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It’s been so long, Lin. _Years_ , since I was with my friends and family. You- I don’t know, maybe you’ve adjusted better to living a new life than I did! But losing _her_ , losing the life I once lived _,_ i-it all happened so long ago, I’ve moved on! I shouldn’t be...be feeling like this.”

He was comparing them, Alexander realized. Because he didn’t know of those nights spent shuddering and crying into the bedsheets out of emotional agony, because Alexander had only spoken of the undoubtedly soon-coming successes he would find. But Daveed had done plenty of his share to comfort Alexander, even if he didn’t quite know it, and while they’d both come to New York by different methods (although Daveed had yet to reveal exactly how or when he’d landed there), Alexander made it seem that he was working through it better. Pity – no, not pity, _concern_ – swam over him, and he put out his hand, gently gripping onto Daveed’s forearm to pull it away from his face. “I hope you can recognize how pathetic it looks to be sobbing in your kitchenette. Let’s go sit down, alright?”

He knew his words weren’t the softest, but it seemed to be the kick that Daveed required, because he allowed Alexander to slowly draw him over to his bed, sitting him down on the end while the other remained standing. After a long few moments, Daveed still futilely attempting to dry his tears, Alexander awkwardly sat down beside him, the mattress sinking beneath his weight and the sheets becoming wrinkled.

“Lin, I...I shouldn’t be…” His voice trailed off, muffled by his hand.

Alexander sighed, adjusting his position, although he made sure to keep a bit of space between them. “Don’t fret over it. I...understand what you’re going through, missing people you loved, being somewhere new. Perhaps not exactly, but...”

Daveed choked out a messy, rough laugh. “No, I think you might know a little too well.”

 _Huh?_ “Whatever the case may be…” He tugged at his sleeve. “Just because someone is gone doesn’t immediately imply you hold less love for them. You can move on. You can...heal. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to be choked up in their memory, even years later, even after you’ve found someone else you love just as much. It’s alright.”

Daveed bowed his head, this time no longer fighting to hide his tears. “I’ve gotten used to this life, whether I wanted to or not. Hanging onto the past and who I used to be will only hurt me more.”

Alexander didn’t know what to say to convince him otherwise, because wasn’t he _right?_  Alexander was only here because of what he had done in the past, and if he held to those same ideals, then nothing would change. He just wanted to return to his family, and that would never happen if he resisted the desires of a new world.

Maybe he couldn’t say anything that would magically warp Daveed’s thinking. No, maybe the best thing he could do at the moment...was just give him the support he needed, the support that he had loaned to Alexander. The room still, the rain outside drowning out the little hics and gasps from Daveed, Alexander scooted over enough to wrap one arm around Daveed. His shirt had nearly dried by then, the fabric no longer so damp.

Surprise spread over his features when Daveed accepted the gesture, then reciprocated, an arm settling against his opposite hip. Alexander couldn’t find any further words to add, instead allowing the other man to rest his head against Alexander’s shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, a level of restraint remaining between them – what with Daveed’s mentioning of homosexuality and the likes, not to mention each having their own reasons to withdraw still – but it served its purpose. He wasn’t sure if he could call Daveed a friend, although he hoped he one day could; he could build a new life without mention of the old just as well. Never the type to find friendship easily, no matter how affectionate he might naturally be with other men and women, even if only platonic.

That was how they sat. Daveed’s breath tickled at his neck, hair brushing against Alexander’s ear. After several long moments, Alexander moved his free hand up to touch Daveed’s arm – not moving at all past that, but providing what extra comfort he could. Not only comfort to the other man, but to himself as well; it was a distraction from the pains in his heart; the thoughts of having lost Eliza; the knowledge that his relationship with Laurens was known, albeit debated.

But that comfort seemed to be enough. Daveed’s fingers curled into Alexander’s borrowed shirt, clinging tight to him, pulling him close.

Outside, the rain continued to fall with a calm, steady, and rhythmic drum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas died later and was reincarnated earlier, meaning he's had longer to adjust to a smaller change than Alexander. But, that doesn't mean he's completely integrated. He's still caught on the past, to an extent, and it's hard to move past that. He did it all alone and he certainly isn't the perfect, unbothered sort of person he tries to present himself as.
> 
> Living fairly close to Monticello, I've basically been force-fed Thomas Jefferson information, as well as having just looked some of it up or stumbling upon it my own. So while I've been looking to strike a balance between what was presented in the musical and what actually happened, most of the information in this chapter is fairly accurate. Meaning that yes, the barbecue discussion actually happened, haha.


	10. Dreams and Memories

Daveed pulled away, appearing withdrawn, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. There was a sense of finality to his actions; he had expressed his emotions, fallen into a pit of despair, and had since returned. He wasn’t quite composed, but was holding himself together.

“Feeling better?” Alexander asked, dropping his arm away from the other’s form and instead allowing it to rest on the bed sheets.

Daveed pulled his knees up to his chest, eyes focusing on nothing in particular as he raised his head. “Yeah. Thanks, sweetness.” One of his hands tugged at his shirt, trying to find a distraction to fiddle with. “Sorry, uh, again. I’m not usually…” his voice choked up, “...like this. And I don’t make a habit of talking about these things. It’s been a long time, and I still love her all the same as I did for who she was – but that doesn’t mean I can’t adore anyone new the same way after her death. I’ve found acceptance, but that doesn’t make stirring up those memories any more...difficult…”

 _She_. His wife?

Alexander let out a long sigh, leaning back to collapse onto Daveed’s mattress. He couldn’t help but note how comfortable Daveed’s bed was; it was much nicer in comparison to what he was familiar with – a simple cotton-stuffed mattress, in his later years, although his childhood and time spent in the army rarely afforded such comforts. He had to once again remind himself that Daveed had very few funds to his name, for surely his mattress was something simple and affordable, however fanciful it might have seemed. If anything, it left him slightly jealous, considering he was sleeping on the floor; maybe with enough time he would be able to draw together a sizeable enough stack of cash to find himself with a tiny apartment and bed of his own.

Near his one...friend’s...? Yes, near his one friend’s apartment.

With one fist further messing up the bedsheets and the other running through his short hair, he said, “I understand _that_ sentiment.”

Daveed didn’t say much of anything in reply to that. Instead, he turned on his hip to lay down beside Alexander. The bed bucked slightly as he settled down, making no comment on the fact that Alexander had chosen to lay back in the first place. Considering how less...personable and openly affectionate people seemed to be these days, or at least how less comfortable they were with things such as two men sharing a bed for convenience reasons, it pleased him that Daveed minded so little.

Alexander found himself continuing, “It’s not just past lovers, although there have been a few that meant the world to me and yet...didn’t make it. A lover that I wished only to follow, and when we were separated, as we talked so little, I was ecstatic to hear of a letter arriving from his home. And when it was opened, I was left to see that it was only a...a statement of _death_.”

Daveed brushed his hair out of his eyes; due to how he was laying, it was quick to fall back in front of them. “He?”

A slight red blush blooming over his cheeks, he focused his stare harder onto the ceiling and willed his words not to tremble. “Yes.” Daveed didn’t react, and Alexander was thankful for that, continuing to speak in an effort to move the conversation along.

“But his death was long ago, and while I felt it harsh, it’s still but a memory dulled by years of grief. My wife, on the other hand...she gave me the family I could never quite pull together in my youth. She had siblings, her father was an incredible man. Our children were bright and so very capable – I saw _us_ in each pair of wide eyes.” He swallowed, hard. “I never deserved her. She was of a social standing that I could hardly match when we first found ourselves together; she stood by me even as a poor man who had nothing. And over the years, I only repaid her by being a terrible husband and an even worse father. I should have done more, but I didn’t. And even today, it doesn’t feel as though she’s dead; it feels as though she has left for the market and mysteriously never returned.” _His dearest Betsy._

He expected Daveed to stutter out condolences, or perhaps thicken his southern drawl and throw out a relaxed reply. Instead, his gaze softened, losing any particular focus, and he said, “And yet it all happened a long, long time ago.”

The idea brushed at the back of his mind once more – did Daveed... _could_ Daveed _know_? Know that he was a reincarnate. Know it was even possible.

Be one himself?

And once again, he set aside the thought for later, because now was not the time. He simply voiced his agreements. “That is the bare truth.”

His words faded out, and he raised his hands to rub at his arms as he stared upwards. The ceiling above him was off-white, patterned with textured splotches. After a long few moments, Daveed shifted and raised his voice, “Uh, well, anyway. You want to get some dinner? Alexander nodded in response, and Daveed pushed himself up, a few strands of hair sticking to his face where he had been pressed against the soft sheets, and moved to throw a container in the microwave.

Despite Daveed’s claims that he lacked the skills necessary to work with money, Alexander had to admit that he had devised an interesting system. He lacked the tools necessary to cook many complex meals; when it came down to it, he had a questionable microwave and a discount rice cooker, as Alexander had learned they were called.

Due to time constraints, Daveed cooked and planned his meals for the week on Sunday, storing them to keep in little tupperware containers. It was efficient, simple, and while one meal often grew boring when eaten over and over again for several days in a row, Daveed was able to work with what he had and make sure they were eating a healthy, balanced diet, for the most part. By buying in bulk (at least, to the limited extent afforded on Daveed’s salary), more could be prepared for cheaper, and even if dinner was often a bit bland and repetitive, they always put together two or three meals a day. Tiny meals, a banana or some oats or an egg for breakfast, a basic peanut butter sandwich for lunch, but it was something, and Alexander appreciated not being left to starve far more than he could ever criticize what they had.

And once Alexander was able to contribute to their funds, maybe they could afford a little more than what they had.

Besides, Alexander wasn’t the best chef. He’d never put in the hours to learn the delicacies of cooking and intrude when it came time to make dinner; that wasn’t his place, and he’d likely have burned their meals if it was all up to him. Daveed clearly wasn’t incredible either, but as they stuck to basic recipes with modern tools, they didn’t face many challenges.

He graciously accepted the bowl Daveed handed him, steam wafting off of the top. Beans mixed with peas, potatoes, and carrots. Alexander could proudly say that he had been involved in creating this particular concoction, although it was admittedly a good thing that it was among the most simple dishes that one could possibly design. While he _could_ cook, somewhat, that was usually left to Eliza or domestic servants – albeit, their children loved to sneak in for a quick taste, or to be endowed with the honor or cracking eggs into the bowl.

_Eliza…_

Daveed motioned him over, a subdued smile on his face. “Grab the chair. Let’s sit and talk.”

Alexander complied, carefully shuffling his bowl into one arm and wincing at the just slightly uncomfortable heat radiating through the ceramic before gripping the back of the chair and dragging it across the floor. One of the wheels caught on the edge of his bedspread and he kicked at the blanket to try and nudge it into place. Finally, he settled himself down, trying to maintain the most respectful distance between himself and Daveed that he could in the tiny studio apartment space.

Daveed had already started eating, and Alexander chuckled softly at the sight of the other man shoveling food into his mouth. Daveed must have noticed Alexander’s strange look, because he swallowed hard and lightheartedly offered an explanation of, “I’m pretty hungry. I skipped out on lunch ‘cause I was working.”

Alexander had noticed, considering how fruitless his attempt to pull Daveed away from his computer had been. “And what kept you so enraptured?”

He patiently waited for his answer as Daveed scarfed down another bite. It was almost interesting to see, in such a setting, the way he sat with poise and elegance and yet half-disregarded clearly learned manners. Alexander wondered how much of his demeanor was learned, and how much was a natural facade.

“Well, I like to call myself a big fancy historian, but honestly most of what I work on is all...editing, really…”

“That’s still important,” Alexander commented, trying to scoop a bite onto his fork. A carrot fell off, and he decided to cut his loses and shove just a potato into his mouth.

Daveed shrugged. “Maybe, but I try my best. Not too good with spellin’ though, I’ll admit that much. Lucky that the computer does it for me.” He scraped his own utensil against the side of his bowl. “I do _some_ research, although generally just supplementary.” He sounded a little dejected, and Alexander was about to offer condolences when he lifted a hand and forcefully stated, “But occasionally I plan out articles n’ such, and do things on my own. Maybe eventually, I’ll be doing...more.”

Alexander snorted. “Well, you are far more capable at plenty of things than I am. Perfectly qualified to be moving up in the world, if I do say so myself. So long as you refrain from growing into complacency you will find yourself unstoppable, sharp, witted.” He blinked, realizing the hole he was close to falling into, and looked down at his food with a quick addition of, “Not to say you aren’t any of those things already.”

His words prompted a small smile to settle over Daveed, and he shifted his sitting position. “Thank you.” He turned his head to look past Alexander, letting out a sigh. “But, honestly...well, I’m...surviving here, I guess. Life’s not bad.” He set his bowl down beside him, one hand on the rim to keep it steady on his bed. “But I just...I want to move back to Virginia. At least in Charlottesville, I wouldn’t be living paycheck to paycheck like I am in this godforsaken city.”

Alexander met his eyes, seeing sadness and frustration hidden behind them. “I never realized you were so unhappy here.”

Daveed let out a long sigh. “It’s wistful thinking, I know. To pack up everything I own and head on down south. Get a bigger apartment, eat more than rice and beans, be able to pick up hobbies.” His voice choked up. “I always loved playing instruments, and gardening. I had pets, friends, family. I miss that.”

“I know what you mean,” Alexander replied, dipping his head down to look at his bowl of food. Somehow, it was no longer a testament of hope, and of changing times not necessarily being a bad thing. Instead, it looked a little more depressing, crying of poverty and difficulty.

Daveed picked up his bowl once more. “Well, it’s a dumb idea anyway. I don’t even have a car, let alone the means to save for one, when I’m hardly able to save as it is, and can’t even drive. I mean, you’re helping me with budgeting, even if I have to devote a little more funds to you. But it’s still _so_ _hard_ , and I don’t even have a job lined up down there, it’s practically just a dream in of itself…” Suddenly, he squared his shoulders and said, “That’s just how it is. ‘Sides, I don’t want to leave you.” With his abrupt conclusion, he gulped down another bite.

Alexander frowned, guiltily stirring his meal. “Right...it truly is a horror for me to be so dependent on you, even with our bargain, and yet I’ve sent out dozens of the most depressing résumés I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Employers just have no use for me in particular above other candidates.” He stuttered, searching for something to turn the mood around. “B-but, I am certainly quite hopeful, even in lieu of many...callbacks. I’ve been spending all day working with applications, finding new ways to boost myself and finding new places to apply to.”

Daveed’s smile returned, and while it was faint, it was sincere. He picked at his food, mumbling out his agreements.

Leaning back in the chair, Alexander raised his head, stating, “I’m going to take a shower after dinner.” For timing reasons, they’d fallen into the habit of Daveed cleaning himself up in the morning and Alexander in the evening. “And finish that letter I’ve been busying myself with tonight as well.”

That seemed to get Daveed’s attention more so than their previous topic of conversation. He’d admit that it was less depressing to speak of, at least. “I noticed that you’ve really been working at that more and more. Who have you been writing to?”

He received a shrug from Alexander. “Old friends, people who helped me. Or, conversely, people who wronged me and I wish to reiterate my grievances over.” With how much Daveed related things back to historical happens, and how the topic of Thomas Jefferson often seemed to pop into his mind for no good reason after all, he had a feeling the man would be getting a very passionate letter very soon. And while he certainly wasn’t hoping that Jefferson was watching from the other side (the more he thought about it, the more concerning the topic became), he found a sick joy in the thought of the man reading his notes and being unable to do a thing in retaliation. “Tonight was...a man I consider closer to me than my own brother was. Back in my home country, we often battled disease, and...well, I was not in the most fortunate position when several people important to me passed within a short span. His family took me in, and he was always so kind, a few years older than myself and still practicing patience towards me, finding that we had many things in common. He’s not...around anymore.”

Daveed seemed to understand what he meant by that on a level beyond merely recognizing the implication of death. There was a weariness to the way he agreed with Alexander’s comment, a comprehension of a great passage of time.

That whispering voice resurged once more with a barrage of _what ifs,_ and Alexander stuffed another bite into his mouth to hush it.

Still, its threads reached towards him, questioning, asking: _If you were reincarnated, then what’s to say someone else – anyone else – was not as well? Even if he’s a historian, even if he talks and acts like he’s from this time, what does he really know?_

* * *

 

Alexander tilted his head to the side, carefully looking over his jawline. Of all the small innovations that had befallen the world, shaving at home without major risk of injury was one he had never given much thought to, although he had to admit that it was fairly cheap and efficient when done correctly. Not to mention, putting in the minimum amount of effort required produced results that weren’t...that bad. While the face that stared back at him in the bathroom mirror still remained unfamiliar, and he had never been one for excessive facial hair, he had to admit that the little goatee style he was maintaining was pretty good.

A droplet of water dripped into his right eye and he flinched, reaching up to wipe it away. He needed to towel off his hair some more. Kicking out one leg to slide his clothing over to him on the tiled floor, he reached up to dry his hair, leaving it sticking up in different directions.

Messy, perhaps, but nothing that a quick pat of the hand couldn’t alleviate. Slightly more satisfied with his appearance, he yanked on his underclothes and hung the towel back up. There was something almost inexplicably wonderful about being able to sit under warm water showering down, always feeling clean and smooth, and never needing to struggle with drawing more water and heating it over the fire. He had always made a habit of at least wiping a washcloth over himself daily, but it was too much work to draw a full, hot bath. Convenience was wonderful, he had to admit it.

He pulled up a pair of grey sweatpants, lacing the drawstring tight and high over his hips. They were a pair of Daveed’s, and like the other clothes he’d loaned Alexander, they were just slightly too big – made to be occupied by someone a size or two above him, just a little taller and generally larger than himself. He stooped down to pick up his shirt and sling it over his head, only stopping when he’d lifted it up to face height at he realized he had not, in fact, grabbed a shirt.

Daveed had figured it would be easier for Alexander to borrow what clothing he had that was on the smaller side, so what Alexander did wear, he kept separate. He had a plastic shopping bag that he’d stuffed a few changes of clothes in, and clearly must have grabbed two pairs of pants by mistake. He could have _sworn_ it was a shirt, but he _had_ borrowed a shirt of a similar color, so he could see how he might have mixed them up.

Groaning, he considered just throwing on what he’d been wearing earlier that day and being done with it all, but he knew that Daveed would notice. And, while he had never been _particularly_ shy or picky about his looks (he certainly put plenty of effort into his appearance, but didn’t obsess over it like _some people),_ he was hesitant to be forced into a scenario in which he’d sheepishly explain why he hadn’t changed. No, that wouldn’t do.

Internally, he sighed, and condemned himself to his fate – he just wouldn’t bother with overthinking it, and instead waltz right on out shirtless and dig through his clothes for a moment. He was both providing the answer and inciting the question, and it wasn’t as though going for thirty seconds without a shirt was something to be humiliated by. It was more a slight concern for breaking some “modern” rule, but as far as he knew, there shouldn't be any problems.

Brushing aside his worries and proclaiming them silly, Alexander smoothed out the folds of his sweatpants, gathered up his dirty clothes in his arms, and walked out of the bathroom.

In the main area of the studio apartment, Daveed was wiping down the counters. Alexander wondered if he was doing it because they were truly dirty, or if it was because he just had nothing better to do and wanted to keep things looking presentable. He felt the man’s gaze against his back as he walked past, fighting away the slightest of blushes that was threatening to rise over his face. _It’s these modern times. I shouldn’t be so flustered over something as small as this; I’ve got no good reason for it!_

But no, that odd look in Daveed’s eyes that Alexander had certainly _never_ before seen in a man’s gaze had to be something he was imagining.

He stooped down on his bedspread, pulling his bag away from the head of the mattress and rifling through for a shirt. What was comfortable enough to wear to sleep (he had noticed that Daveed slept in only his underclothes, but considering Alexander’s position, he had declined to do the same) and yet looked presentable enough as evening wear?

He had just nearly settled on a similarly bland and grey short-sleeved shirt when he felt a hand on the bare skin of his shoulder, stifling a yelp at the sudden contact. “Daveed?” He turned his head to look up, finding the angle unsatisfactory, and rising to his feet to turn around.

Until he was standing, he hadn’t realized just how _close_ Daveed had been behind him, finding himself so aware of his current state, half-dressed. But, to his surprise, when he tipped his head up enough to look into the other’s eyes – willing that _damn persistent_ blush to finally dissipate – he saw that Daveed’s stare was not focused on his face.

Instead, Daveed was looking at his _scar_. Slim, dark fingers gently moved to trace over it, and Alexander shivered at the touch.

Burr’s bullet had ripped though his side, just above his right hip. It’d gotten his ribs, his _spine_ , torn his flesh and destroyed his stomach. Pain, agony, praying for numbness to overtake him.

So why _wouldn’t_ it leave a mark? After all, it served as a testament to his death: the one connection he had with his previous life so long ago.

Daveed’s touch was gentle and soft, even as he quietly asked, “How did you get this?” He seemed contemplative, a hundred questions and thoughts rushing through him, even while acting with feather-lightness.

Alexander’s mouth was dry, both at the question and the intimacy of the action. He licked his lips, taking a deep breath and responding vaguely with, “A...a fight, against a good friend. Nothing major, and it’s in the past.” He shuddered and stepped away, self-consciously pulling his shirt over his head. Daveed’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, forcing a slightly smile over his features and stepping back to give Alexander a little more space.

“Well, I’ll try not to leave you with another matching one, right, daaarling?” Daveed hummed, specifically drawing out the joking(?) pet name at the end of his sentence. That elicited a small chuckle from Alexander, one that was tiny but not forced, and it was enough to restore a lightened mood.

Daveed squeezed his forearm before stepping away to resume his work on the countertops. Alexander dragged his fingers through his still-damp hair, looking after him.

Maybe he didn’t know anything after all. Maybe Daveed hadn’t been privy to some secret he was holding above Alexander.

Maybe instead of being a reincarnate, he was just a genuinely nice person – _unlike_ Alexander.

He bit at his cheek, thoughts rushing in his mind. He knew the single constraint John had taught him: he could not directly say who he was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t spill the truth to Daveed.

Although it was not as though the man would believe him. Chest tightening, he forcibly busied himself with folding up the clothes he’d messed with and setting apart those that were dirty and needed to be washed. No, there were just _so many_ feelings he couldn’t quite make sense of, and he couldn’t just cry out the truth like _that._ Daveed hardly knew a thing about him as it was, and even if he wasn’t dismissing, it would be too much of a jolt and a shock.

And if he couldn’t sort out his own emotions, then he wasn’t about to leave that up to Daveed.

Especially with the way he spoke of _sodomy_ , of men liking other men, and how was Alexander to have known that times had changed so much? That it wasn’t a _sin_ any longer. That Daveed could so comfortably, casually say that Alexander could _feel_ that way without having his life on the line.

That Alexander was worried he _was_ starting to feel an attraction.

He winced slightly at the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He’d been chewing too hard on his cheek, and there was no doubt that it would swell and be left tender by the next day. The stinging pain snapped him away from his delusions long enough to think clearly, focus, and set his sights on another goal.

If his turmoil-ridden mind was any consolation, he _needed_ to know, for good, what he now faced. He had to step away from his past and embrace this new world that lay stretched before him, a layer of shining and metallic surfaces disguising poverty and constant battles beneath them. Times had changed, and if he spent each night reminiscing and confusing himself over a spider web of lies and tangled memories, he would only be left even more of a wreck than before. Just as he had done on that fateful day he left Nevis forever, he was going to take one final, long gaze at his old home fading from view across the horizon, and then he was going to turn around and face the sunlight anew.

And that meant tomorrow, he was going to learn what had become of Eliza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, is that Jamilton I smell? It just might be. This scene was one of the first I had planned for this fic, and it's fun to finally have written it! I actually put together a spreadsheet detailing the actual meals they make, being sure to keep costs low and meals easy to cook with what tools Thomas has. I'm also really excited for the next chapter!
> 
> Alex is starting to adjust more. His speech is a little more casual, and he's not quite the physical and emotional wreck he was before. At the same time, he and Daveed are growing closer than ever.
> 
> School has started for me since the last update, although fortunately enough, my classes aren't particularly rough this semester!


	11. Adieu, My Betsey

Daveed was in the bathroom. Come to think of it, he had been in there for a while, although he usually took longer to get ready in the mornings in comparison to Alexander. Daveed definitely took the most pride in his appearance of the two of them, not to mention tending to shower in the mornings as a way to wake up easier.

They had a good, solidified plan these days: Alexander made breakfast, Daveed made dinner, and they put together their individual lunches as a team. Living in such a tiny space, they did everything possible to make it feel like they had more than what they did, and sticking to their schedule was part of that. It was _all_ they could do.

Alexander punched in the time on the microwave. He’d learned the name for it recently, and while he _had_ to admit the general idea was fascinating, he was wistful for a normal oven.

Well, perhaps “normal” was a poor choice of words. Brick ovens and larger cast irons stoves were really all he was able to work with (with an exception made for some campfire dishes he’d picked up in the army). But who knew what people were cooking with nowadays, if they could create a box that heated food through magic waves (as Daveed has explained it to him; Alexander got the impression the man didn’t quite know how they worked either)?

It was functional. He’d give it that. It had a singular purpose, and it did that one purpose to an acceptable degree. The apartment had come with few amenities in the first place, so they made due with a rice cooker (that Alexander wasn’t quite yet comfortable with using) and the microwave for most of their meals.

Alexander opened the drawer nearest to the sink and pulled out a simple paring knife. The microwave beeped, shrill and annoying, and he pressed the “cancel” button before turning back to the countertop. There was nothing much in there; merely a cup of tea for Daveed, tea bag left to steep in the hot water. Alexander was satisfied with just the fact that he had access to drinkable water on top, and preferred that to wake him up in the mornings, although he would occasionally take steal a cup for himself. Such an action was rare, however; there was a level of guilt associated with each burden he placed on Daveed, and that included taking some tea for himself.

He picked a banana up off of the counter, peeled it, and began slicing chunks into his own bowl of oatmeal. Without Daveed hovering behind him to say otherwise, he gave himself slightly less than half, the rest going into the other’s bowl. His own little way to subtly say thanks.

Besides, without his little adornments, the plain oatmeal was simply depressing. Once he had a job, and once they weren’t so hurting for money, he’d make sure they at least got some butter and perhaps brown sugar or cinnamon to top it off with. He’d get a job, soon – at least, that was what he hoped.

He took Daveed’s cup of tea out of the microwave, snuck a sip, and set it down beside the other’s bowl of oatmeal. Electing not to eat right away, he left his on the edge of the countertop by the sink and waltzed over to the bookshelf. He’d commandeered part of the lowest shelf to keep the clothing he was using, as well as setting his wallet and such down while asleep. Mindlessly, he grabbed his notebook and took a seat in the swivel chair, cheap fabric comfortable against his back.

He’d been writing his letters starting from the first page, and taking notes starting from the last. Day in and day out, he would port it to the library and back, using it as a way to keep track of whatever new words or concepts he learned and discovered. He’d keep a record of anything he figured out, including notes relevant to his futile job search. If nothing else, being able to look over his earlier thoughts had been immensely helpful, and he couldn’t help but imagine that he was slowly beginning to fit in better. Computers were a mystery, but one he could use (to a shaky extent). And his speech! He wasn’t really dropping his accent, but his words and speech mannerisms were beginning to reflect those of the people around him. Colloquialisms were a little more difficult to pick up, although when it came to word choice and such, it was almost scary how easily those changes came.

It was as though he were losing his old self.

He flipped through the bound papers, settling a small chunk of pages away from the front, looking for the letter he’d written the night before. He had a tendency to reread things, obsessing over how every carefully crafted sentence was presented.

He settled on the last entry, somewhere in the middle, and had nearly picked up his pen when he realized the page was a bit further along in the book than he had written thus far – and that was coming from _him_ of all people. Confused, he glanced at the cover, heart sinking. He’d grabbed Daveed’s personal notebook by mistake. In his defense, it _was_ strikingly similar to his own, and was either placed on the same shelf as his own items by accident, or had been pulled from the wrong place.

In embarrassment, he moved to set it back, only making a partial turn in his chair before hesitating, curiosity beginning to flick through him.

It wouldn’t hurt if he just _glanced_ at Daveed’s writings. He wouldn’t read anything particularly old; if what the man said was to be believed, he had gone through a period of grieving with very emotional letters. Yes, Alexander was snooping, but he was at least going to be polite with it and only read the newer, better-adjusted notes.

Thumbing through the papers until he had once again returned to the latest letter, he checked the date. Written just the other day. The words themselves were small, with a sloppy, messy cursive script that seemed oddly...familiar, although he couldn’t place why.

_I feel as though I have experienced a lifetime apart from you. I wish to say that I had stood beside you upon your death, but you, my friend, had the luck and will to survive for a full decade beyond myself. Perhaps this is indicative of your aspirations to…_

Nothing much to see here. Alexander guiltily looked over his shoulder, but Daveed was still in the bathroom. He skipped down a few paragraphs.

_Many a man has subscribed to the mentality of an unyielding attitude. I myself once said that very thing: what wondrousness we may find, if we are always doing. And yet here, I find that so difficult not to do, as it is forever a battle for survival in a strange, nearly-foreign city. On occasion I have found myself glancing over my shoulder, wondering which men and women I see walking about are in fact a creation such as myself, unoriginal, a repetition of an earlier time. The idea is selfish, I know, but to wonder if perhaps I will find another I once knew...if anything, that is to suggest my only good friends were dishonorable men, which is simply untrue._

_I have imagined for so long that I may find another, and my thoughts have always drifted to the question of: Who? What men might have destroyed their lives so fully that they wake up once more after their final rest? And I suppose my question has begun to receive an answer, albeit perhaps one that has not totally solidified as of yet_. _I have begun to collect suspicious, but the answer eludes me, further muddled by the new urges that have crept through me. Confusion at sensations of the mind I have never felt before. And it worries me._

Alexander skimmed over the rest in a flash, unsure what to make of what he had read. Daveed never elaborated on his “feelings”, and while he mentioned missing some unnamed hobby, most of the rest of the letter was boring day-to-day comments on traffic and books. Then, as he reached the final words of the letter, his heart thudded to a stop.

_In short...I do wish you fair happenings, wherever you may be. For it has been far, far too long._

_At least, I personally consider over 190 years to be too long. One of many downsides that come of reincarnation._

_DA: DIGGS_

At the very bottom of the page, squeezed into the final half-line, was his curly signature. Even his _name_ was written in that unsure, unnatural manner found in someone who was unused to signing with it, as if they were only just learning to read and write, and the format itself was odd.

The paper crinkled beneath his hands as his grip tightened.

Daveed was reincarnated. _Just like Alexander_ , he had been a man who had done such wrong that he had been barred from the gates of both heaven and hell, the afterlife, only allowed to return to the same mortal plane he had nearly escaped. There was no other possibility; any dredges of fear or wistfulness that perhaps the man meant something else were gone from his mind. He had stated it, straightforward and sure.

But if Daveed was a reincarnate, who was he _really_? And more importantly…

Did he know about Alexander?

Behind him, there was the sound of a door opening, and he nearly fell out of the chair stashing the notebook back on the shelf. A moment later, Daveed walked out of the bathroom and threw his clothing into the laundry basket in the closet. “We’ll prob’ly wanna wash this stuff soon...there’s a communal laundry room in the basement.”

“I, um...yes, of course,” Alexander agreed, rocking on his feet, heart pounding. His mind was rushing and running, thoughts disorganized, and he couldn’t quite sort out how he wanted to feel. Blinking quickly to try and force himself to focus, he spout out, “Er, breakfast is on the counter. I made you some tea, too.”

“Oh,” Daveed hummed, blinking and smiling back at Alexander. “Thank you. You didn’t have to; I could have gotten it on my own…”

Alexander waved it off, ignoring the way his hand was shaking. “I consider a morning drink part of breakfast, and therefore a subset of my duties. No need to thank me.” Trying to hide his expression, he snatched his own bowl off of the countertop, grabbed a spoon, and sat down cross-legged on the floor.

A minute later, Daveed joined him. Alexander swallowed hard, nearly choking on a chunk of banana when the Virginian seemed to make a point of sitting down on the floor (normally, he sat on his bed or at the desk, why _here_!?) right next to him. He was desperately hoping to cling to the almost-silence of the early morning, still trying to process their most recent development.

Daveed had been so kind to him. _How_ could he be, if he was supposedly so _terrible_ like Alexander was?

“Hey, Lin? Do you...do you think that I could maybe ask you a question?”

Broken from the silence, Alexander jumped and sucked in a breath, unsure if he really wanted to answer anything right then. “Yes?”

Almost gingerly, Daveed thrummed his fingertips against his bowl and looked away. “...How did you know that you’re attracted to men?”

This time, Alexander really _did_ choke on his breakfast, coughing as he tried to swallow his oats. Of all the questions he may he received, he was not expecting that one first thing in the morning. Daveed looked concerned, moving to try and do _something_ , and Alexander shook his head and fought to regain his composure. “U-um…” his face was red, not from anger but from embarrassment, and he couldn’t seem to comprehensively reply. Even worse was the question of _why_ Daveed – a fellow reincarnate – wanted to know. He’d never considered the standard populace of Virginia very progressive, let alone those from the early 1800’s as Daveed must have been. Unless one considered Thomas Jefferson progressive, trying (and failing) to pass a bill that would have homosexual men castrated instead of hanged.

_No, don’t think of him. Think of someone else; find an answer to Daveed’s question so he’ll leave you in peace._

John. How had they come together? The image was ingrained into his thoughts. It had been one rainy, dreary night; Alexander had been up late writing. They shared a tent, were always together as the closest of friends, and that evening Laurens had been sitting beside him as he worked. That night had grown late, far later than he should have been up, and Laurens had stayed awake alongside him, eventually attempting to encourage him into rest. Those touches turned from relaxing to heated the longer they went on…and he’d _finally_ set aside his papers, had pressed back against John in a way that maybe wasn’t exactly friendly. Then, Jack had suddenly snuffed out the candle and plunged them into complete darkness, claiming it to be an accident, those lips crashing onto his…

And whatever prayers to God he’d uttered to save him from the perversion of sodomy with another man had died on his lips as he realized he _couldn’t say no to that_. Not to John’s mouth against his own, nor the fingers pulling at the hem of his uniform’s pants and tangling in his hair, breath gasping and hitching...

“It’s, uh...I suppose one might experiment, but you generally just...know? That _this_ is what you like. How did we know we’re attracted to women? I-in my case, with men, I found _someone_...who stood out, and maybe people considered it _so wrong_ , but it felt _so right_ …” Trying to dampen _those_ thoughts, just as he had done for years upon years in a society where such thoughts left people like him dead, he instinctively apologized. “Sorry, I’m not particularly equipped to speak of this; it’s a bit difficult to talk about...”

Daveed hurriedly responded in kind with an apology of his own for asking in the first place, and they returned to their meals, eating in silence.

* * *

As always, the streets were loud and crowded during rush hour. Car horns honked away, people chatters to each other or invisible correspondents on their phones, and the tide of people rushed and throbbed over the sidewalk. And, just as commonly seen, Alexander was lost in thought during their morning commute.

Who could Daveed be?

What did he even really _know_ about Daveed? Just as Alexander was concealing information and weaving false stories, Daveed could be doing exactly the same thing.

Alright. The man was a Virginian; Alexander had no doubt about that in his mind. He was clearly well-educated; even setting aside his status as a historian, which must certainly have been tied to his status as a reincarnate, Daveed could read and write with proficiency. That didn’t tell him much, unfortunately. If Alexander, even coming from his situation in the British colony of Nevis, was literate, he wasn’t confident that he could guess Daveed’s heritage. What else? Most of the physical signs Alexander could have based his thoughts off of were absent, considering Daveed wasn’t in his original home or even _body_.

Daveed had little money, living paycheck to paycheck especially with the two of them being supported, and yet he seemed...comfortable. He missed his hobbies and friends, but he found new, cheaper things to do. He planned his meals and tried his best to save. Sure, he was haughty at times, but he didn’t flaunt a false presumption of wealth and hide his debt. Concurrently, he didn’t have the best understanding on finances and economics, so he was unlikely to have been a small business owner. A poor farm worker, perhaps? Some sort of humble career. He could imagine Daveed curling up in a modest home after a long day. Exact race, ethnicity, or even physical similarities didn’t seem to carry on from their past life, so Alexander couldn’t pull much from that – especially considering his current appearance was a far cry from the red-headed, blue-eyed, pale, skinny, short-statured man he once was.

His search drifted back to the letter, and the odd way it had been signed. Alexander signed his letters simply: to Betsey, usually just an “Adieu” with his initials, and a loving note to kiss his children goodnight in his absence. To Laurens, a “Your’s forever”, and his signed name. For most anything work related, a “Your Obedient Servant, A. Ham” sufficed. Most people had their own particular patterns to sign with, and he rarely saw Daveed’s format in others – although admittedly, Jefferson had been among them with his simple “TH: JEFFERSON”. Maybe it was something Virginians did? At least, some of them, considering Washington and Madison sang a different tune. So was Daveed from the same area as Jefferson?

Perhaps it would be impossible to guess who Daveed was. After all, if he really was some commoner unknown to Alexander, it was nearly impossible that they would have met before death. As far as he knew, Daveed could have been _just_ old or young enough that Alexander was out of his age range for work in the first place.

The man in question gave a sudden grunt, causing Alexander to snap his head up to look. Daveed gingerly brushed off his shoulder, answering Alexander’s unspoken question with, “Got shoved aside by a native New Yorker. Must’ve been walkin’ too slow.”

Momentality removed from his muses, Alexander nodded along, a little distracted. “Yes, I’ve had a similar issue before. I saw some man run out into the street over the crosswalk, passing right in front of a car, all to cross to the other side faster.” His thoughts flashed back to the man he’d seen all that time ago. Still seemed as insane now as it had then, but now his mind was wandering. Who else in the crowd around him had been reincarnated? From when? “Although while I do attempt to respect the law, I am no stranger to city life. Is that is how people live here, then so be it. So will I.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t consider myself unused to city life, but I’m really more a country person...secluded, comfortable walks, trees and birds…”

Alexander understood the benefits of such a place, but found difficulty relating. He never liked the quiet before, found it indicative of a singular moment in time, frozen and flooding with impending doom. Still, he nodded along, and they walked up the stairs and headed into the library.

Day by day, he found the library growing more familiar. The shelves, layout, nearby buildings and other common sights. He supposed that after you see something time and time again, it naturally must grow normalized.

Daveed waved to the woman working the front desk as they passed by. Alexander curiously looked between the two of them, holding eye contact with the woman for an extra moment. She reached up and brushed a few curly strands of hair from her eyes, similarly to how she had acted that first day in New York, but otherwise said nothing. Intrigued, he asked, “Do you know her? I noticed that you have made a point of saying hello to her every morning, but I’ve never seen you two together.”

The rounded the corner, outside of her line of view, and Daveed bent down to whisper, “Quite frankly, I’ve got no idea who she is. But she’s pretty nice and gives me free computer time sometimes, so I keep up the friendly relations.” Then, he straightened up and smiled down at Alexander. “Between you and me, Lin, I’ve been cheating a bit. It’s not just my natural charisma that gets the ladies; it’s the southern charm that really reals ‘em in.” As if attempting to prove his point, Daveed relaxed his gaze, tilted his head, and winked with an odd _look_ on his face.

Alexander turned his head away to hide the blush creeping over his expression.

“Anyway,” the other added, stretching, “I’m doing mostly fact-checking this morning. Gotta verify a few dates with some microfiches that don’t have digital files in the database, only references. I’ll be in the geneology room if you need me.” He slung his backpack off of his shoulder, handing Alexander his notebook and a pen, but hanging on to his lunch. “Hopefully it won’t take too long, but I’ll make sure to eat lunch with you, alright? See ya, honey bunches.” Smiling, he turned and walked off.

Alexander licked his dry lips, dredges of embarrassment still clinging to him, before finally convincing his feet to work again and carry himself over to the computers.

Here he was.

He took a deep breath, then sat down on the uncomfortable, wooden chair. He typed in his login, pulling out his card to double-check he had the correct password, before being left sitting at the desk, home screen pulled up before him.

Mechanically, he pulled up the web browser and hovered his fingers over the keys. It was time to find out what happened to the best of wives and best of women.

He typed her full name into the search bar, memories drifting back hundreds of years.

Their relationship had been difficult. It was overflowing with love, but there were dozens upon dozens of rocks and crags and snags hiding behind every bend and corner. And yet...Eliza was there throughout so much of it. She would sacrifice her own rest just to stay by his side as he worked into the wee hours of the morning. She’d light a small oil lamp, or sometimes even a single candle, remaining awake to read over his messy rough drafts and listen to him attempting to speak his thoughts. Whenever she could, she would rise to the occasion, copying writings, scribing his jumbled words, acting as an intermediary, studying and learning the knowledge he needed for his practice just so she could be an advisor.

She managed their household, was always active and flitting about. How could she ever have much downtime, with eight children, and a ninth – the young daughter of a close friend who had died in the war – taken in under her care? Yet somehow she always found place to dote over his well being, worrying day and night that he might arrive home safe.

And what had he done? He had stressed her, horribly, to the point that she had been so ailed and sick...he had resigned from public office and rushed home to be with her, if only to try and alleviate her pain. He did it because he _loved her_ , adored her like he adored no one else, because even if he was so in love with John, he had spent twenty-four years of his life by her side, and she meant the world to him. And then he had found himself wrapped up in an affair, one so long and arduous that he had broken down in front of her, trying to convince her out of guilt that he truly had done something so horrific as to break her heart. She trusted him, with everything, and it had taken so many tears for her to realize that he was telling the truth. That he really was a disgusting, terrible husband.

He never could understand why she loved him so. Standing with him, even when he was a penniless soldier. Moving alongside him after his falling out with Washington. Happily accompanying him to balls and dances and parties, even inviting Thomas Jefferson over for dinner one night – back when the man had only recently arrived from his stay in France, and before Alexander had been graced with the opportunity to realize what an annoyance he really was.

She shouldn’t have returned to him. Shouldn’t have chosen to allow him back into her bed. Not after all he had done. And yet she had, and when he found himself bleeding and hurt, laying in a tiny house on Greenwich Street, she, Angelica, and their seven still-living children standing around him as he passed.

Oh, how he loved her.

So what if she remarried? Forgot him? Found comfort in another man’s arms for the remaining years of her life?

He wouldn’t be angry. She deserved happiness, and a comfortable life, and if that was what was required, then so be it. But he needed to know, for his own closure.

He selected the first link he came across that sounded factual and began to read. The mouse clicked as he scrolled down to the biography of her later years, after his death.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Eliza had always been charitable. She was the most kind, gentle woman she knew; when she saw someone hurting, she wanted to help. Whether it was him, one of their children, another friend, or even a complete stranger, she wanted to make life a little easier on them. But after his death?

His beautiful Betsey had established the first private orphanage in New York City: the Orphan Asylum Society, developed to aid those in the lowest points of their lives, providing a safe haven for children instead of sending them to the local almshouse.

She had dedicated her life to widows and children and the poor.

She had heard hundreds of stories from Alexander’s childhood, of being an orphan, of how hard his single mother worked before her death to keep him and his brother fed and clothed. She listened to all the hardships Alexander had experienced, and set out to do something about it.

She saw her late husband in each child she raised, helping to bring the next generation of America into a new, bright future. All the while, she was preserving his legacy, organizing his papers and personal objects, defending him against his critics…

And even at the very end, she held him close to her heart, wearing the pieces of a sonnet he had written for her years ago as an impoverished soldier, clinging to whatever faint memories she had of him.

Because she had lived for another _fifty years_ after his death. Fifty years in which she never took another husband, never wed another man, never swaying from him as he had swayed from her. Fifty years during which he was not by the side of his gorgeous, strong, intelligent wife.

His throat was choking up and he dropped his head into his hands, fingers buried in his hair.

That fifty-year absence was _his fault_.

He had been so prideful, so passionate, and that was what had led to his untimely demise. If he had just learned to shut his mouth for once instead of using his position to instigate fights and harm others, bringing a gun to a knife fight, the direct controposition of all Eliza wished to do...maybe he could have remained by her side for another fifty years.

He broke down into tears, sobbing into his hands, shoulders hunched and mouth clamped shut as he tried to stifle himself in the silence of the library.

_How could he do this?_

A warm hand touched his shoulder, light and delicate, and he involuntarily flinched at the contact. Daveed? A mess, an embarrassment, he looked up.

It was the woman from the front desk. She had a light coat tugged around her shoulders, hair loose. “Hey…” Peeking out from under her unzipped jacket, he could see a nametag. _Jasmine_. “You okay? How about we step outside for a minute?” He didn’t know what to say in response, so she continued, pulling out thirty dollars she had tucked away – a ten, turned so he could only see the backside and not the front, and a twenty. “I know of a little cafe a block away, and I’m going on break. Let’s take a walk and get your mind off of things.”

He nodded, numb from all he’d learned today, not thinking straight enough to question why she’d walked over or why she felt the need to help. Eyes still wet, he signed out of the computer, picked up his notebook, and followed her outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every background character is important...but not all are unimportant. ;)
> 
> Alexander cares for Eliza so much, and even as time passes, cannot see himself stopping loving her. He may eventually find new love, but that doesn't mean he has to forget her. And lately...we'll, maybe he's finding that "new love"...although at the moment, he's more concerned with the fact that Daveed is a reincarnate like himself. I also changed "socked away" from the song to "tucked away" as it fits a little better in this context.
> 
> As per usual, this chapter was a giant information dump, down to the notes on varying signatures. I got a little carried away, haha.


	12. Cafes and Coffeehouses

Their steps were in line as they walked down the street, any noise from the beating of their shoes on the asphalt drowned away by the hum of cars and people.

The city had changed so much in the past two-hundred years. From the changes in the very layout of the city – a landscaped park in the middle of the city, imagine that! – to the architecture, the vehicles, the people. The skyline, the smells, the sounds! It had been _so long_ since he was a young revolutionary leader, ordering his men to cut down the trees on the street for firewood and barricades, or plotting to take recoat encampments by force. And now, the city was so much larger, filled with people from all walks of life! It was incredible, amazing, and some optimistic part of him was awed to have been given the chance to be apart of it at all.

“Hah, you’ve been here for a few weeks and yet you still ogle like a tourist,” Jasmine commented, twirling a strand of hair on one finger. He chuckled, shrugged, and she nodded with a pleasant air about her as they walked.

Jasmine’s clothing was a style above his own. Where he scraped by with Daveed’s slightly-oversized, casual outfits (a far cry from the needlessly fanciful adornments he’d always had tailored in his past life, a begging way to prove that for a child who came from nothing, he finally had _something_ ), she had chosen a black long skirt, red lining and patterns around the bottom, and a simple matching blouse, light jacket thrown over top it despite the warmth of the day. The choice of color was odd, the deepest colors conveying uncertain meaning, as though she had seen grief and regret and wished to hide the suave, the glimmering red of blood and rubies and lust, danger and sexual desire. Still, the skirt was light and twirled around her feet as she walked, and for all he knew, she had simply chosen it for the reasoning that it was comfortable and familiar, while not quite as formal and expensive as a tailored dress.

Over one shoulder, she had slung a creamy-brown purse to carry her personal items. Carefully zipped up, and yet a few papers poked out of the side pocket. He noted that perhaps buying a satchel for himself would be a fair idea of its own accord; if nothing else, he was getting tired of porting his books everywhere in his arms, or fighting against Daveed’s polite need to carry things _for_ him. Today, at least, he had no library books to return, although without many hobbies, sitting back with greek philosophy or old classics he had read a dozen, two-dozen, a _hundred_ times before, all in the years before his death. The one bit of familiarity he could carry onwards.

“Almost there,” she promised, smiling faintly, and he couldn’t help but return the gesture. She was pretty, looks and sincerity drawing him in. There was something about her that seemed almost comfortably familiar. She rounded the corner, and he obediently followed after her, eventually stepping out of the mild heat into a tiny cafe tucked between other, larger shops. The interior was cozy in an _almost_ hippie sort of fashion, a barista chatting with another worker at the counter, false leather booths and tiny yellow lights strung up over the walls. There were a few customers sipping their drinks or nibbling at little pastries as they played on their phones or worked on a computer, but for the most part, it was nearly empty.

Sweet scents drifted through the air, making his shoulders untense. There was the thick aroma of roasted beans wafting through the cafe, drawing his mind back to the coffeehouses of Philadelphia following the War for Independence. There were the fringes of sweet cakes and fruit – something so marvelous and seemingly fanciful, despite the fact he had seen in the past few weeks that the sugar and syrupy-sweet of fruits from far away countries were nothing special to the populace of New York these days. No, back in his times, everything was either pickled, salted, smoked, or eaten just after harvest. While he might have been so repulsed by the grease and salt that seemed oppressively present, there were some things he couldn’t help but consider a guilty pleasure.

He expected that they would go up to order right away, but instead, she pulled him over to a half-booth in the corner of the tiny shop, seats on one side of the four-person table and wooden chairs on the other. He was pushed into the booth, and slid in against the wall, Jasmine squeezing his shoulder. “Have a preference? For coffee, I mean.”

“Uh, not particularly, no…” he admitted, more concerned that he would screw up his modern-day coffee terminology than anything else. She shrugged, saying she’d get him something, and pranced off to order. Idly, he stared off after her, thirty bucks clutched in her hand. So odd to have a woman generously paying for a drink for him, with what would have been a month’s rent in his time, and easily coming back with spare change. A gesture for someone pained in a moment of weakness.

There was _something_ about her. The way she acted as though she knew him better than he knew himself, the sense of a long-forgotten friend finally reunited. There was a difference between her and Daveed; that much was fact: the closer he looked, the more he saw the clues that pointed to Daveed’s status as a reincarnate, but even if there were certain familiar cues that reeled him in, and even _if_ Daveed _was_ suspicious that Lin could be a reincarnate, they still didn’t know the other’s identity. Even if they did know each other, they acted so different now, and so unlike the way things had been; without a spire to stand upon and a thread of specificity to follow, they couldn’t rekindle any past relationship, as unlikely as it was for them to have even known each other, simply based upon statistics. It was one thing to eventually come to recognize a reincarnate, but another to find who they were for sure.

After all, the gentle man he saw in Daveed was a far cry from the biting and scathing comments he fended back against his oppressors, his enemies; Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, each and every one of them. After he had lost Laurens...his most private self had been hidden away forever. The revolutionary quartet gone and disbanded, the one man trusted with the secret of his sexuality and treason dead, and Alexander alone and walking a path untold. Fulfilled in his love, but alone in his friendships, even his later friends never quite fully saw his true self. Always hidden away behind years of storm clouds and hurricanes.

He jumped back into the present when she sat down beside him, sliding a warm, paper cup towards him. Rather than choose to sit in a wooden seat across from him, she slid into the booth, nearly pressed against his side. Careful to leave a little space between them, he moved to take a sip from his drink, sputtering and slamming it back down onto the table when the hot liquid burned his laps.

“Hah, sorry, it’s still a little warm…” she admitted, clutching her own cup between her bare hands. “Gals here always make ‘em hot…”

“Right,” he choked out in answer, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You, uh, you know the employees here?” It certainly wasn’t a single family working here on business; rather, a small shop with a diverse staff. Oh, how the times had changed.

Jasmine was quiet, taking a deep breath before sighing and beginning an almost rehearsed recount. “I was new to New York, several years ago...a lone, young woman with nothing...I spent my nights in a filthy women’s shelter, nothing to my name.” God, if he didn’t know how that felt. “I managed to get a job here, for a short time, and found friendship with the other ladies of this establishment. I know all the girls at the counter...some, if nothing else, were in that shelter with me...and I thank them for giving me the time of day to get on my feet.”

A long, slow sigh escaped him as he hung his head in his seat. He had been in such a similar situation not long ago, and yet she managed to crawl out of the darkness with nothing, and he was burdened and embarrassed with help. But, in any case… “Well, thank you. For the coffee. I truly must appreciate it.” She took a delicate sip of her drink, finally having cooled down enough to drink, and he continued. “I’ve just been...emotional, lately, and am going through a difficult time. Sometimes it feels as though I haven’t slept in nary a week, with summer in the city upon us, trouble and hardship upon us.” He paused long enough to take a gulp of his own coffee, the taste sweeter and creamier and richer than he would ever bother to make for himself. How much adversity would be required before he lost himself, and no longer could feel anything? Hurting Eliza, losing his son, teased and jeered at every turn until it was difficult to bring himself to care. He was tired. So why now was he feeling vibrancy once more? “But I’ve somehow managed to bypass the shelter system, even as I was looking over it. Sleeping on the street did not appeal to me after a night out in the rain. And nowadays I stay with a...a roommate, of sorts. Maybe a friend?” Perhaps even more than that, his subconsciousness suggested. Although whether that extended into the realm of a lover or an enemy, he did not know.

“I understand how difficult it can be,” Jasmine replied with certainty. “I’ve seen you at the library every single day job hunting, with no luck. But maybe things will begin to look up for you. This could be your big break.” He took another long drink, appreciating the wake up even while he cited similar reasons for denying Daveed’s tea each morning, and Jasmine conversely set her own cup down onto the table as she moved to root through her bag. He sat up a bit more to try and see what she was doing, suddenly especially appreciative for that extra bit of height he had in this new body, and she laughed and finally produced the object of their attentions: the few papers he had noticed tucked into her purse as they were walking over.

A job application. He looked to her for guidance, for context. “What is this?”

“I _know_ how hard it is to get a proper handle in this city when you have to start with nothing and work upwards from there, so I figured I could give you a hand…” She slid the papers over to him, each one creased twice where she had thrown it into her bag. “If you think you can handle working in a cafe, that is. There’s a couple other guys here, and the women are all very nice.”

He didn’t know who Jasmine was. Whether she was a truly generous woman who came across someone in his situation, or, if she had gone through the same experience as himself, another reincarnate...but if nothing else, she had gone out of her way to produce an “in” for him that would give him a leg up in getting a job. Despite this, her sweetness was toxic, drawing him in, and he nodded along. She scooted across the seat, trying to get that much closer to him even when they had already been only inches apart.

“Lin, is it?” He nodded, feeling a bit idiotic repeating the motion. “Well, I’d seen you working so hard with the computers and books, and yet I thought little of it…” Not able to find much meaning behind her words, he shrugged them off, thumbing through the folded pages. One full page was the requirements for the job, and the rest for a proper application and references. Likely printed only because she saw his incapability when it came to the internet and knew they would accept applicants on paper here. “Hey.” Her slender fingers slipped beneath his chin, tilting his head up to look into her eyes.

Heart heavy, mind’s eye flashing back to that winter’s ball, those laughing jokes with Burr, and then later on Eliza so gently drawing him up to look into those sweet, sweet eyes, he stretched the corners of his lips up into a smile. “Hey?” Then, she dropped her hand away, leaving him thoroughly confused.

“It’s good to see you smiling,” she stated, trailing her hand up to rest on his inner thigh. “You never seemed to smile back when we were together, _Alexander…_ ”

He _shrieked_ , trapped between Jasmine and the wall, knee of the leg she was touching reflexively thumping against the table. She was faster than he was, jumping up out of the booth as his cup of coffee spilled over the wood, dashing to set it upright before too much spilled out from the lid. Dissimilarly, he drew up his legs towards his chest, scrambling to lift his notebook and the application papers away from the scene of the accident. He’d already lost his notes that first time he slept out in the rain overnight; now that he was consistently sleeping indoors, albeit on the floor, he couldn’t lose them again. Not his letters, nor his notes, nor the job forms.

Jasmine let out an audible groan and ripped out a handful of napkins from the central holder, brown paper blotting dark with what coffee had been in his cup. “What a waste,” she scoffed aloud. “At least not too much was spilled...and yet, I’ll admit it’s not the first time your actions and ambitions have ruined things…”

His heart was thumping out of his chest, the momentary adrenaline from the drink spill wearing off, replaced with cold horror. “ _How_ did you know!?” he demanded, fear fluttering in his ribcage. “I- I have had the time of my _life_ attempting to subtly find if there are any other people like me around, and you came right out and- touching my thigh, I wasn’t even in a position to _imagine_ you were... _her…_ ”

Her.

_Maria Reynolds._

His goddamn _mistress_. The woman he snuck into their house – into their _bed_ – when Eliza was away for the summer, and later, while Eliza was busy with errands and away from home. Each time in the aftermath, Maria would comfortably settle down beside him, clothes scattered about the room, hair in a state of disarray. He would never pull her close, wrap an arm around her, only guilt and horror consuming him at the thought of what he had done. And yet, the next time Reynolds needed cash, Maria would show up at his door and pull him into a kiss that promised danger and blackmail, that left his head _spinning_ , and against his better judgement he would lead her inside. He would be seduced anew, never wanting to continue but always falling into her traps because it felt so _good,_  those same hints of danger he’d felt sneaking about camp with Laurens on his arm.

He was pathetic.

“There’s always a feeling you see in reincarnates after a time. A man with your accent, your words, seemingly unfamiliar with everything from the cars in the street to the plastic in napkin containers,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the napkin holder, cruelly hammering in her statement. “Although in those...it must have been more than ten years...between the last night I spent between your bedsheets and the night you passed away...you do not seem to have changed in the slightest. I had my suspicions, of course; it does seem like your personality to flock to a library where I could see you. But your tears over Eliza were the confirmation.”

That did it for him, and he slid out of the booth and rose to his feet. She was shorter than him; not by much, but his eyes weren’t quite level with her own. Those same eyes that had once glittered with lust now glimmered in confusion and fear at his blank expression, sloped shoulders, and darkened eyes.

“Let me get this straight,” his hissed, voice low. “You saw that I was emotionally vulnerable over learning of the fate of Eliza. Eliza, my _wife_ , the _best of wives and best of women_ , someone who meant a hundred – no, a _thousand_ – times more to me than you ever did. And your first thought was to...to what, make me seek recourse from you? Put me below you, reignite fires long extinguished, destroy me in another _life_ than the one we onced lived?” His tightly-strung words, biting and sharp-edged and undoubtedly _true_ in his mind may not have been the kindest thing to say, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from digging his own grave.

“That is not true _at all!_ ” She growled back. “That _pamphlet_ of yours ruined my life too. I was publicly scorned by others at every turn! Because it was supposedly _my fault_ for seducing an ‘honorable man’ such as yourself. Hah, as if.” She was leaning over the table, not facing where he stood. Then, she turned, eyes flicking up to meet his own. “I left the states for years. And when I returned, it was under a false name, as far away from _you_ as I could get. And unlike _you_ , I thought I changed. I found a new husband with whom I was very happy. I became a devoted member of the church. I put my terrible, broken past behind me and enjoyed the love and goodwill of all who knew me – and I died a new woman _twenty years_ after you, the _idiot_ , went out and got himself shot. And yet that must never have been enough, because I woke up years ago wearing a filthy skirt and lying in a mucky alleyway.”

His fingers twitched, and against his better judgement, he took a half-step to stand with her.

She only continued her solitary monologue. “I hadn’t seen anyone I could recognize for...for years. For _forever_. It’s been _so long,_ Alex!” The way she so casually shortened his name and snapped back at him with it was only another blow to his psyche. He hadn’t realized how much he _missed_ being called by his _real_ name rather than “Lin” until she said it aloud. “And maybe this time, we can...we can fix things, rather than run away from them, and point fingers. I know that I should not have done to you what I did. And I also know that you are just as much to blame as I am, if not more. The playing ground is level, today. So why cannot we make amends?”

A flush crept over his face, not out of erotic embarrassment, but of realization of the situation. There were other people here, most ignorant of their hushed argument, but he would rather not make a scene. And yet he remained _horrified_ of their encounter, and shamefully, he kicked out one wooden chair and dropped into it, head thumping into his palms.

Maria slowly lowered herself into the booth across from him, eyes downcast. “I know you would never consider it. I wouldn't, either. I know we were never good for each other. But you are the only one like me I’ve seen for sure, and I...I wanted to try.”

Instead of a direct answer, he stared down at the tabletop, coffee-soaked napkins creating a disappointed, wilted centerpiece. “At what point does it end?” She tilted her head, confused, and his run-on mouth elaborated. “I always heard that in New York, you could be a new man. It was the one place I thought I could break the cycle of my family, with a broken marriage, an absent father, and yet look at how that turned out...my mother left her first husband just as Eliza rightfully was separated from me for some time, albeit my mother thankfully never returned to him. But then, after our reconciliation, I turned right around and got myself _killed_. My-” his voice stuttered, “My youngest son was _two years old_. I doubt he even remembered me. He certainly never met the incredible man he was named after.” Little Phil was named after his oldest. His first son, the one he always claimed would someday blow them all away.

That was not the only cycle he referred to. No, when did his broken and shattered cycle of hopeless, _helpless_ love end? For how long would it endure? Those fleeting crushes, a need to appear more mature and tom cat-ish. And then John, hand down the front of his breeches, nipping at his lips…

Then, Eliza. Sweet, gentle, so unfoundedly kind to him. A woman he loved with all his heart and soul, the woman he wished to do nothing more with than spend forever beside. Kissing her to sleep, nuzzling against her, joking and ranting and writing.

Maria only hurt him. She was the manifestation of his run-away desires and idiocy, and yet she herself was no fool, because she was right: _he_ had done this. He could blame her all he wanted, but if he were to do so, he would need to shoulder the blame all the same. They both shared responsibility, and the Reynolds Pamphlet had ruined both of their lives. Not just that, but Eliza’s, and more.

“I want this cycle of reincarnation to end. I want to change, be a new man, and I want to fix what I have since destroyed. Keep the old close to my heart, and never forget it, but still live a new life,” he continued, unable to look her in the eye. “Find a new job, discover modern hobbies, maybe a...a lover…” This time, it wasn’t situational embarrassment that had his face lightly flustered. Instead, it was the vague, blurry apparition of _one_ man in particular. Why was he imagining these things now!?

Jasmine sighed, bowing her head. “I understand. And maybe it will never work out. I’ve just...been here for several years now, and I was starting to lose hope that I might _ever_ find someone again. I was literate, but I learned how to _really_ read, write, speak. I studied, I fought for it, and got some desk job in the library. I’m scraping by, but I’m unhappy, I’m alone, and _yes,_ you’re...well, you’re you, not exactly my first pick. But who else of my past companions was quite so terrible so as to be reincarnated with me? It surely does not seem as if my later years made up for my youth, if I’m stuck like this…and I need...anyone. I need a friend who knows what I could never say of my past.” Tears in her yes, she forced him to meet her gaze. “I want a friend who can call me by my real name rather than Jasmine, someone who will reminisce with me, someone who will help me _move on_ and grow rather than forget and conceal.”

Those eyes held stories of hundreds of facets he had never seen of her, uncountable experiences that had shaped who she was, and he couldn’t bear to stomach it all. Instead, he ran his fingers over the perfectly-shaped, white papers. There was a line for his name on the very top, already filled in with a perfectly-scrawled, in woman’s handwriting, “Lin-Manuel Miranda”.

He stood, tucking the papers into his notebook and gathering it all into his arms. In one hand, he clutched the coffee cup, liquid no longer quite so burning-hot. “Thank you again for the coffee, Jasmine. And the application papers. I really do appreciate it.”

“Alex-”

He turned away. “But, right now...I can’t do this. I-I...want to make amends. I just...need a little time.” She reached forward, desperation and regret entertwined in her movements, and squeezed his hand.

“Stay...”

“Hey…” he replied, tilting her chin up. “Jasmine? _Maria?”_ She blinked, waiting for him to continue, worry blooming over her face. “If I can get this job, I’ll treat you to coffee later on. My way of repaying you. And...if it matters at all, should I find another reincarnate _and_ discover their identity, even if you did not personally know them, I will be sure to introduce you.” A weak, sad smile graced her features.

“Well, I’d sure appreciate that, sir.” The honorific tacked onto the end was no longer a way to solidify their class differences; rather, it was a tease at their past relationship, and a promise to move past it.

Who knew; maybe, by some stroke of fate, even if Alexander did not know the man Daveed once was, Maria would.

He pulled his hand out of hers and walked out the door. She did not follow, simply leaning back and taking a long sip of her drink.

* * *

 

That evening, he headed back to the apartment with Daveed, step in step, yet not quite hand in hand.

The hours beforehand had been uneventful beyond his meeting with Jasmine, for the most part. They’d worked apart, Alexander filling out his application with intention to submit it the next day, finally deciding he had done enough for the day and going to check out a few books to take home. Nothing much, really; some nonfiction to help him continue his integration; some fiction just for fun. On a whim, he considered adding a biography of Thomas Jefferson into the mix, but ultimately decided it would be torturous to read through, and set it back on the bookshelf he had retrieved it from.

Lunch had been a quick affair, not exactly rushed, but instead cut short when Daveed had jumped up to take a phone call. He seemed to have been expecting it, and Alexander had finished up eating alone before heading back inside. Thusly, they had not been in a position to discuss the day’s events quite yet.

And, of course, Daveed had insisted on carrying Alexander’s books for him. Alexander had vowed to get back at him by carrying Daveed’s items instead, leading to their current state of Daveed clutching a small stack of books, the half-empty backpack now slung over Alexander’s shoulder.

“So, Lin…” Daveed began, bouncing on his heels as they waited for a few cars to vacate the crosswalk. “How was your day? I mean, you’ve been acting a little...off, this afternoon. Not off, but...different, you know?”

“Yeah,” Alexander confirmed, shrugging the backpack into a slightly more comfortable position. He desperately needed to tighten the straps, but figured he could deal with it for now. After all, it was Daveed’s backpack, so it wasn’t as if Alexander would be wearing it for long. “I, uh...met up with an old friend. Was treated for coffee.”

“Oh.” There was a long, drawn out wait as Alexander found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable. There was an air of awkwardness about them, the traffic finally clearing just enough for the two of them to cross the street and continue towards Daveed’s apartment. He tilted his head, concerned, before it hit him – an old friend. Daveed _must_ be fully suspect that Lin was a reincarnate, therefore making an old friend more worrying, as they would have to be of the same time. However, even those sorts of thoughts did not prepare him for the next question to leave Daveed’s lips: “A lover?”

“No,” Alexander solidly answered. “But we...are trying to reconnect and rebuild a bridge burnt long ago. Not in the sense of love, merely...not absolute detest for the other? It’s difficult to explain.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And besides, it wasn’t only for catching up. She used to work at the cafe we went to, and understood how difficult it’s been to get a job in my situation, so she brought some papers and said she would vouch for me if I applied. So...perhaps it will all work out?” He gave a half-smile, tiny and hesitant. Then, he shrugged it off, and attempted to continue the conversation along so that Daveed did not ask too many questions based upon his mentions of Jasmine. “And what of you? For the day’s activities, I mean. That phone call, to begin with.”

He was most certainly not prepared for the little jump and surprisingly high-pitched squeal he received from Daveed. Confused and slightly concerned, he gave the other a prompting look, finally being given an explanation in return. “It was from my boss! Well, technically not my _boss_ , it was more like his secretary giving a follow up on my term review from work.”

“Oh?”

Daveed grinned. “They said that for my level of experience, I’ve got unique skills that are a valuable asset to our writings. _And_ that I’ve been improved for a very teeny-tiny raise. It’s not much, maybe, but his secretary said that since they prefer to fill similar roles in the company through internal hiring, I’m in the running to maybe get a promotion? Because one of their current project people is leaving, and they’d like to get someone to fill that role as quickly as possible.” He was positively _beaming_ , and Alexander couldn’t help but laugh, the sound choked out when Daveed pulled him into a hug, the two of them standing under the awning of a side doorway. “Maybe I’m overreacting, but this position was one I was wanting to get for a while, and at the moment I’m the only candidate they’ve got set up for it. And even if I don’t get it, and the benefits that go with it, I’ll still have the little raise right now. And then you might be getting a job, and I’m...I’m just really happy.”

Alexander chuckled and looked up into Daveed’s eyes, noting the tiniest blush dusting the other’s nose and ears, before the two embarrassedly detached.

Today was the day Alexander learned three fundamental truths.

Number one: Eliza, his dearest, _darling_ Betsy, had lived for years and years after his death, using the time he never had to do incredible things. She was always an amazing woman, the things she strived for only leaving pride blossoming in his chest, a sort of bittersweet touch to it. If only he had been there to help her, to see all that she could really do. And while guilt and sadness consumed his thoughts on what he had done to her, every ounce of his being rejoiced in the knowledge that she had flourished. There really was a little light in this dark, dark world; whether it be found in the arms of a man, or the most beautiful, _wonderful_ woman on the face of the Earth.

Number two: There were more reincarnates in New York City. Maria Reynolds, a woman whose name he had cursed and damned under his breath for years, had – unlike him – worked hard to piece her life back together and pay her dues. The fact that she was here betrayed the inevitable conclusion that she was not perfect, that perhaps she still had something to learn, or to repay. But she, just like Daveed must have been, was growing as a person. And if he were lucky, perhaps he too would be able to mend their broken mutual need and mutual hatred into something more akin to...friendship?

And finally, number three: He _might_ be developing a tiny attraction to Daveed. And, more importantly...said attraction _might_ be reciprocated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12, in which A Second Chance's descent into a modern coffee shop AU commences.
> 
> Jasmine has been around as a reincarnate for quite some time, and she's tired. She's found a new life, and has gone on to be a new woman, but she hasn't been able to completely let go of the past. Seeing Alexander, of all people, gave her someone to lock onto; their relationship might be dust and ashes these days, but she's entitled to closure too.
> 
> Similarly, this is something Alexander needs to face. And as much as he wants to run away, he has to do this. On the flip side, he's starting to get a little close to Daveed...there'll be some real, tangible Jamilton next chapter.


	13. A Simple Question

Alexander could not believe that the relationship between him and Maria would ever be anything one could consider “normal”. Their past nights spent together had been hot and heavy, flirting with danger and heartbreak, and even as they had grown into different people today they were not particularly looking to reignite that old spark.

But things didn’t need to be “normal”. They could simply be...pleasant. Mutually beneficial. Removed, yet pleasantly polite.

Really, though, Alexander was just thanking whatever God there might be that she somehow managed to score him a job with some of the sweetest ladies on the planet.

“So _where’re_ you from?” Another barista, surprisingly close to his age, asked. If he was recalling right, she was getting back onto her feet after a nasty divorce – that’s how she had met Maria in the first place. She retired the bow on her apron, the frilly look complimenting her wavy hair. Her appearance was just that of a mom figuring out what she wanted to do with her kids out of the house. She was certainly the most friendly of his coworkers, although he was hoping to get closer with the others in time.

He adjusted the way he was leaning against the wall, concrete making goosebumps stand up on his back. Outside, rain pattered against the window with a particularly strong gust of wind. “Nevis. A tiny island in the Caribbean. Not...not a part of America.” He had at least thought to look that up.

“Ah, yeah…” she nodded along agreeingly, and quite frankly, he didn’t know whether she was truly listening or not. “Must’ve been a pretty big change then, huh?”

Electing not to mention the fact his home had been leveled, or that it was a slave colony that grew sugar, he shrugged, brushing away her comments. “To an extent, of course.” Then, a laugh escaped him, perhaps dampened to an extent by the tiring years he had seen. “You know, it was never cold down there. Even in the winters, it would be sunny and warm. The only time I ever felt chill was with sickness or perhaps the waters on a cooler night, or the sand in the shade of leafy trees. I do believe I cried from the cold the first winter I spent here...snow was a concept that had never even entered my mind before then. Never truly figured out how you New Yorkers survived it.” Even after several years of dealing with the harsh (in his opinion) winters, Eliza had still been sweet enough to entertain him when he refused to let her climb out of bed and leave him alone without her warmth. A personal heater, and one fantastic to cuddle with.

His coworker’s eyes were round and shining in amazement, and perhaps a slight mocking tone as well. “I’ve never considered someone not knowing about weather like that. Something as basic as snow and ice.”

“No air conditioning back home, no cold water either,” he casually waved off, and truthfully, he was correct with that statement. Both for Nevis, and for New York back _then_. Although naturally the tropical air and smothering humidity made his home island a bit less bearable than the city. Yet, as always, she seemed astounded by the idea that he had come from a primitive, savage place compared to hers. And he hated to admit it, but perhaps that was true to an extent; at the very least, people didn’t tend to duel here.

She snorted, as if horrified by the very idea that the air would be even slightly too warm for her.

Alexander sighed, drawing his fingers through his hair. It was starting to grow out again. It wasn’t that he disliked the short style; it was actually quite nice and especially easy to care for, but he hadn’t yet bothered to cut it. Besides, with more regular washing and nicer care products, it was soft and fluffy. He wanted his hair to be long enough to play with, or braid back, or...something. Maybe he just wanted to hang onto something from his past, even if it was far darker and thicker than the fair auburn hair he once had.

Seemingly pleased and content with herself, his coworker crossed her arms and settled against the side counter. The shop was practically empty at the moment, hovering in that dip between the last stragglers for a morning cup of coffee and the first office workers looking for a quick bite for lunch. It was nice. If nothing else, it was a small, tucked-away shop that turned good revenue despite their tiny staff and wildly varying patron count. He might have only been working the till and sometimes helping in the kitchen...but he was really starting to enjoy coming in and seeing the others working that day. It felt like he was making friends.

He just wished he could work through his... _issues_ with Daveed. That goddamn _attraction_ that was fluttering in his chest every night as they walked back home, always tainted with whispers in the back of his mind. About how loving another man was wrong, as society had unceasingly chanted it for all his life. Conflicting with the sudden assuring voice that it was plenty right. And then, the question if Daveed even fancied men at all. He had seemed intrigued by Alexander’s preferences, asking about them now and then, but nothing for certain.

Even worse was the slowly growing anxiety over what Daveed was hiding from him, intentionally or not. He worried that as quickly as his fancies grew, his fears grew to match – what if Daveed had been reincarnated for being a murderer? Or some other horrific crime, or rather someone hardly hanging on the right side of the law? A man who acted as though he were a king, abused the dozens of slaves under his command, or was even someone Alexander had _known?_ Someone that had waited _two-hundred_ years for a way to destroy Alexander anew, and now had seen parts of his personal life, had grown close to him, had come to hear things no one but John had been witness to-

“What’re y’all chattin’ about?”

He jumped, already spinning around ready to apologize for not noticing a customer come in before he registered that familiar southern drawl and saw that poofy hair and those shining eyes. Alexander coughed, straightening up and moving to stand behind the cash register with a pleasant air about him. “What can I get for you today, sir?”

Daveed hummed, drumming his fingertips over the counter – thankfully, the wooden part, and not the glass portion that would be spotted with fingerprints from the tiniest of touches – staring down Alexander as though he were pouring over options on the menu. “I’d like to talk to you, actually, if you have a minute.”

Alexander frowned. “It’s still a little early for lunch.” Most days, Daveed would stop by after the lunch rush had finished up. Even with two incomes, they couldn’t afford to waste what they had, so he rarely ordered anything; instead, they would eat their packed lunches together, whether at the library or in the cafe.

“No, not for lunch,” Daveed amicably agreed. “Just to chat.” And then, his relaxed smile twitched, betraying a hint of pleading, as though he were about to collapse under the weight of all he wished to say. “Please, darlin’?”

Alexander checked over his shoulder with the barista he’d been chatting with, receiving a nod in confirmation. Not even bothering to ditch his nametag, he gave her a thankful wave and slipped out from the staff door, meeting Daveed in front of the counter and stepping outside with him. Similarly to when he had first woken up with a new face in this very city, it was raining outside; they huddled underneath the side overhang in a poor attempt to stay dry. Daveed _had_ an umbrella, although he had shut it, tapping the stick against his leg every few seconds like a nervous tick. It was slowly starting to leave a damp mark on his right shin. Backing to the side enough so that his coworkers couldn’t see them through the window – the streets themselves were just about abandoned at this point – he leaned against the cool brick and smiled up at Daveed, pushing down his worries. “What were you looking to speak of?”

The man took a deep breath, using his free hand to brush nonexistent dust from his shirt. After a few moment’s pause, he then he seemed to shudder on his heels and blurt out his thoughts before he could rescind them and back out. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About your comments on how you felt in regards to your sexuality, and I...I’ve done my own research. Articles, studies.”

That wasn’t anything like what he was expecting. Perhaps the man was going to update him on his work situation, or he had found some fact particularly interesting. Alexander had come to appreciate those excited squeals and long rants over various points of history. But not...not this. “O-oh?”

Daveed twisted those fingers into his shirt. “Um. Yeah. And I think...well. It’s complicated. But I... _might_ be attracted to men? Or. Not exactly men, but...uh, mostly women, I mean, but also possibly while not men in general, some very specific men catch me eye. So women, with exceptions?” Daveed was _blushing_. “I don’t know for sure. But I’ve been thinking for a while on that, and working through some conflicts over...accepting that. And I’m pretty sure that I know how I feel.” He lifted his chin up, solidly. “I wanted you to know.”

Alexander wanted to respond. He wanted to give Daveed reassurances and support, because he understood the struggles of escaping a mindset that had been forced down since birth: there were things religion dictated as wrong, as monstrous, and that thinking that way would lead to torture in this world and the one beyond. Even John had been trapped in that vicious cycle of despair, hoping that Alex would move on and forget his love for another man when Laurens himself could not.

But above all else, Alexander was in shock. Not for a moment had he expected to hear a confirmation that Daveed felt those same attractions. Maybe not to him, explicitly, yet he had his hopes…

His friend, his romantic interest, a source of constant inner turmoil over love and anxiety, was staring him down with a prompting look, as though all that energy that had triggered him to push forward and spill everything to Alexander had left him with a void in its place. He _needed_ validation that what he felt was okay. Alex couldn’t consider himself the pinnacle of understanding on the topic – outside of what he himself had done, all else he had was what would crop up in the news. Men with other men being persecuted. Public accusations ending in death from duels of honor. Those the people left alone to their sodomic ministrations, whether from connections or from some ruse of a developing society, being whispered of in the street. He wanted to say something to Daveed, but didn’t know what, so instead he barely stifled an undignified squawk as another gust of wind sent raindrops splattering into his eyes. Turning away from the rain, both to keep water out of his face and to hide the redness creeping over him, he finally managed out, “I’m glad you’re coming to terms with who you are and how you feel. Because I understand that struggle.” His eyes flicked up to meet the other’s. “I really do, more than you might believe. Needing validation because it’s so hard to break free and decide these things for yourself. Being too afraid to make the next move.”

“I guess we do understand each other a little too well,” Daveed conceded, rubbing at his shoulders. “On the outside. Although just about everything else is debatable…”

“Right...I’ve actually been wanting to...to t-talk to you about that…” he coughed in reply, thoughts rushing through his head. Daveed was perfectly aware they both knew of each other. Clearly. Not only that, but he was expressing his wishes to know _who_ Alexander was. He wanted to come clean. Say that he understood the constraints of their “curse”, and even if he couldn’t simply _say_ his name, and was honestly a little scared for Daveed to find out who he was, he still wanted to put their deceits behind them.“I...was planning on asking you about this. And if you really do have no interest, and aren’t comfortable with the thought, it’s all well. I will drop the question and never ask again. Eh…”

“What is it?” Daveed asked, bending over and propping himself up on his umbrella. Thankfully, it didn’t snap with the weight placed upon it.

Alexander had a plan to confess their situation, right now, out in the rain seemingly silenced from the rest of the world. But, when he opened his mouth, something else came out instead. Something that was less worrying to think of, rather naturally and easy to say. “I wanted to know if you had any interest in...romantic excursions? With _me_?”

It was now Daveed’s turn to be surprised as he practically leaped backwards, receiving a new splash of water that left his normally frizzy hair drenched. “Wow.”

_He had said the wrong thing_. “I-I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, forget I said anything, I had figured with you talking about figuring yourself out and- I jumped to conclusions there, I am _so sorry_ -”

“No.” Daveed grabbed his shoulders, making Alexander shudder at the touch of wet palms to his work uniform. “I...yes. Really.” He turned to look out over the abandoned street. “I would love that, honey. Maybe...sometime later this week? After you get off from work?”

Alexander had to stifle his smile, although he was unsure if it came from nervousness or giddiness. “Okay. Euh, okay.”

“Okay,” Daveed smiled back.

Alexander nodded until it felt like his head would detach from his shoulders before hastily spouting out a goodbye and rushing back inside.

The barista he’d been talking to earlier chuckled at the site of his loving (terrified) grin. “What’s that look all about?”

“Ah, well...I might be pursuing a romantic relationship with my roommate,” he choked out as he shut the employee door behind him.

Then, she threw her head back and laughed. “Wow. Been a while since I was in for some high school drama.”

“ _What_ exactly is that supposed to mean?” he mumbled in confusion.

“Oh, well…” she looked down at her nails. “We’re always throwing out stock at the end of the night. I’m sure no one would notice a couple cookies, or some cupcakes...going _missing_ right before your date. It’ll be great! You’ll have a wonderful time.”

Alexander considered mentioning the fact that he was slightly older than her, had a longer-lasting marriage, and was already getting with ladies before he even left Nevis. But, really? She seemed plain happy to help, be a good friend, and he _wanted_ to accept that. Wanted her to laugh and fawn over him with his embarrassing crushes.

So instead, he jokingly groaned and buried his face into his hands. “Thanks…”

* * *

Tonight was the night. He was actually going to do it. A _date_ with Daveed.

It was a Wednesday night, and he had been scheduled for a later shift start time Thursday – meaning that they could stay out as late as they wanted and do whatever they pleased for the night, coming back home and collapsing right away. Alexander couldn’t say he particularly adored sleeping on the floor, but if he was tired enough, he’d take anything.

He felt underdressed, unprepared. Coming out of the shower, he realized that he couldn’t exactly do much to help his appearance – wasn’t this supposed to be a special night? – outside of making sure he was clean and orderly. Toweling his hair off, he yanked on those same plain clothes he had first woken up in the streets of New York wearing, albeit now freshly washed. Then, he straightened out the wrinkled fabric and walked out into the main room where Daveed was waiting, lying back on his bed.

He took solace in the fact that the man hadn’t done himself up too much either. Of course, it was just as possible that he didn’t want Alexander to feel self-conscious about what he was wearing, but he liked to imagine it was their casual relationship growing. Composing himself, he straightened up and coughed into his sleeve. Daveed jumped up at the noise, brushing away the hair that had stuck to his cheekbone. “Lin! Ready to go? I, um...planned something.”

“So did I,” he admitted, a tiny smile touching his lips. “I didn’t want to come on too strong, but I figured you might like it…” He crouched down on the other side of the bookshelf that separated Daveed’s bed from the rest of the room, picking up a plastic grocery bag and stuffing it into his hoodie pocket.

A little surprise for later. The gals (and guys) at the cafe had really come through for him, and he was immensely thankful. A couples cookies (one chocolate chip, cinnamon, peanut butter...he didn’t know what Daveed preferred), a chocolate croissant, a blueberry muffin.

He was probably squishing most of that in his jacket, but no matter.

A hand was on his back, and he laughed, grasping the other’s wrist and accepting the offer to be hauled to his feet. “Now…” he began, looking up at Daveed, throwing in a bat of his eyelashes for good measure. He _wanted_ this. Damn it all, it was a desire for another man formed of interest, love, attraction, and it felt good to accept it. “Do you have any plans to tell me what we’ll be doing this fine evening?”

“We’ll both keep our surprises to ourselves,” Daveed chirped with finality. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Although...I get we haven’t even started our little excursion yet, but...do you think while we’re out I could hold your hand? Lin?”

Alex could see that gentle questioning, a need for basic affection, and he happily obliged, intertwining their fingers. “This good?”

Daveed’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a soft hum as they headed out of the apartment, locking the door behind them. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Once they reached the sidewalk, he prodded again. “So? What will we be up to?”

“Well, I figured a night walking around would be pleasant enough…” Daveed began. “But even though you asked me out...well sweet pea, I’ve been thinking about it for a while and working up the nerve, hence why I wanted to plan things.” He mumbled the last bit of his sentence, face flushing. Alex brightened up a little more at the knowledge that _Daveed_ had been planning to ask _him_ out, before he made that first move. “I want to get to know you better, and don’t really have a good idea of what you like, but the New York Botanical Garden has free admission on Wednesdays so I figured if you were interested…well, I’m kind of a plant nerd. And we can take the metro right there.” Then, he winked, a teasing grin spreading over his face. “Of course, Hamilton Grange is always an option too, although if we go I’ll just spend the entire time makin’ jokes ‘bout the guy and his pompous mansion.”

Alexander’s grip on Daveed’s hand tightened. That was his old _home_. “The Botanical Garden sounds fine. I’d rather go somewhere that you’re passionate about _loving_ , even if you are a historian.” He smiled. “Now come on, I haven’t a clue where this is but I cannot wait to hear you fawn over flowers and vines!”

Daveed laughed, and it sounded light and full and so genuinely happy that Alexander couldn’t help but join in.

This was going to be a good first date; there was no doubt in his mind about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be coming very soon...I'm awfully excited for it. ;D
> 
> So, here we go! The first date begins. Alexander is being torn in two directions: he's starting to wonder more and more who Daveed used to be and why he was reincarnated, but also finding familiarity and comfort in affection. Fortunately, at the moment, one desire is much stronger than the other. Daveed feels very similarly; he needs something to love, and Lin is the perfect subject for him to coddle and dote on.


	14. An Impossible Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to throw in a quick warning before the chapter! A Second Chance is rated mature, so there are no explicit scenes, and nothing beyond stripping (kinda) and kisses are shown in-chapter. However, if anyone wishes to skip that scene, once you get to that part of the chapter just skip down a couple of paragraphs; it's over quickly.

Daveed had thought to look up the metro routes before they began their date, finally putting together where exactly they were supposed to go to get to the New York Botanical Garden.

Alexander, having not anticipated that the trains went so damn _quick_ , didn’t think to hold onto the standing pole as tight as he should have. His date, a little more solid and experienced, laughed and put an arm around him when he nearly fell.

Another thing Alexander didn’t anticipate? How _breathtaking_ it was to see Daveed excitedly rambling about flowers and birds and butterfly migrations.

“Mockingbirds are quite respectable creatures,” Daveed lectured, Alexander chuckling and rolling his eyes at the scene. “They valiantly protect those they love -- their eggs, for example -- and yet maintain a level of intellect and prose in their music, learning a number of unique songs and even following along with others as they weave their tunes. You would do best to keep this in mind, lest they come attack you.”

“Sounds like you,” Alexander replied absentmindedly. Daveed seemed so hesitant to love, had to have time to work through things first. But once he was comfortable with it, he was...expressive. Far more so than Alexander, who considered himself fluid in his words but stiff in his actions. Then, he caught a strange look from Daveed and burst into laughter, excusing his true thoughts. “Yes, you are most certainly a mockingbird. You’ve got a pleasant voice, I’m sure you would do wonderful as a singer.”

Daveed snorted, tugging at a lock of hair. “I play a few instruments, actually…” Then, he shrugged and shook his head, curls bouncing and framing his face. “You know, Thomas Jefferson loved mockingbirds. One of his pets, for example. He would let them fly around the house, chirping along to his songs. And- and they would ride on his shoulder, and eat out of his mouth.”

Alexander considered making a lewd joke, but considering Daveed was speaking of _Jefferson_ , he instead gave an overdramatic gag. “I cannot believe you, bringing _that man_ into our lovely date. I’ve got a foul taste in my mouth just thinking about him.”

His words were intended to be lighthearted, but Daveed’s smile faded anyway and his heart fell. Alexander sighed, dragging one foot along the walkway and debating whether or not to retract his statement or stutter out an apology.

Daveed’s grip on his hand tightened, fingers entwined, and then he was pulled further along the path into a grove of stout trees with bright green trees. “Let us return to the beauty of botany.” He held out a hand to motion towards a tree before them. “These are fruit-bearing trees, and it’s possible that mockingbirds would enjoy their fruit, although they are omnivorous and prefer berries. Are you familiar with the Virginia Crab?”

Not seeing what crustaceans had to do with trees and birds, Alexander gave him a loose shrug.

“It’s a tree,” he clarified, and Alexander blushed, embarrassedly letting out a soft sound of understanding. That made more sense. “This stand right here -- they’re crabapples, a sort of native, wild apple, if that makes any sense. You’ll find them planted as ornamentals, for the most part, since they flower in the spring and produce small fruits in the fall. Which are edible, in fact, although you’ll usually find them in other forms. They’re quite tart.”

Alexander craned his head, admiring the view. Or, more accurately, the expression on Daveed’s face as he animatedly spoke of seeds and pollination and native animals. “Maybe I prefer a tart taste over a sweet one.”

“Then maybe you’ll like crabapples,” Daveed smoothly answered, shading his eyes from the sun. The gardens were sunny and green, giving a feeling of being far in the country when they were truly just out of the city proper. It was bright and calm; Alexander recalled Daveed mentioning some time ago that he preferred the country over the city. “You know, Thomas Jefferson planted an interesting variety. His northern orchard was exclusively a cross between the native American crabapple and the domesticated European apple. You might know it by the name Hewe’s Crab; it was very popular in eighteenth century Virginia. The most common fruit variety planted, in fact.”

Alexander suppressed a groan. Daveed clearly loved his Jefferson facts, and if their relationship was going to work out, then he’d at least have to learn to restrain himself. However, he begrudgingly decided that his minimum requirement was that Daveed keep the historical trivia out of the bedroom, and they were in public, so he would let the man continue. He wasn’t causing any harm with it, and if nothing else, he wanted to see where the guy was going with it all. Besides, he had looked like a kicked puppy when Alexander shut his last speech down…

“He greatly enjoyed them for their cider, writing that juicing them was like squeezing a wet sponge. That particular variety created a wonderfully cinnamon flavor, sweet and sugary as if mixed with sweetener and honey, yet delightfully pungent.” He shifted on his feet, leaning his weight more against Alexander. “My, uh...before moving here, my home had quite an...extensive property, and I planted some of these trees on it.” He scratched at his neck, a mosquito buzzing out of reach. “They grew well in Virginia, and my sisters would always harvest some without our mother knowing and bake with it. They made glorious jam. Oh, and pudding!”

“Hm,” Alexander replied, rubbing his thumb over Daveed’s palm. A soft breeze left black strands of hair fluttering over his eyes, a thankful change from the rainy weather they had been experiencing so much of lately. “How many sisters did you have?”

“Six,” Daveed chuckled. “Two older, about the same age as me. And four younger -- although I was far closer to the two born when I was still young, rather than a decade after. How about you? Any siblings?”

“A few,” he answered with a so-so wave of the hand. “People seemed to love arguing over who my real father was, and then if you are to count my mother’s ex-husband’s new wife’s children…the number can vary.” He distinctly recalled his political rivals spreading rumors and whispers -- that he was a bastard child accepted into power only out of obligation. “But really, isn’t family made of friendship over who you share blood with?”

“Certainly,” Daveed hummed, thoughtful, and Alexander swore under his breath that if the man launched into another story about Thomas Jefferson, he was calling the date off. Thankfully, however, he did not have to take such drastic measures. “I’ve had friends I’ve felt closer than siblings, parents, or children. The heart over the mind for once...although really, I maintained a fine relationship with my siblings...I had a fortunate childhood, privileged, and I’m grateful for it. Many others didn’t have that sort of chance.”

Alexander sighed, clutching at his jacket sleeves. “Yeah...if only I did, though…” His father’s failed business ventures hadn’t exactly helped their situation, and his childhood home -- tucked above a provisions shop, with one bed and two chests for their whole family -- wasn’t much to look at. “It’s embarrassing, really.”

Warmth sank into his shoulder as Daveed gripped his arm, the touch firm but not painful. When Alexander managed to raise his chin to meet the other’s eyes, they were soft and gentle. “Lin...don’t feel that way of your birth home. You had no control over where fate dropped you; all that matters is the man you chose to become.” He dropped his hand, and Alexander longed for it to return. “I used to know someone who...well, he was a great man. Perhaps not a good one, but he did exactly what was needed at the time.” He paused, licking his lips in thought, and then continued. “I wouldn’t call him a friend; we could never get along. But he had a mouth that could say exactly what needed to be said, and I respect him for it. But in any case- that man, always tried to hide his childhood. He was ashamed of where he had come from -- a forgotten spot in the middle of nowhere, born into nothing. He concealed it, never spoke of it, terrified that others would use it against him. Which they would, of course.”

“Inspiring,” Alexander deadpanned. Daveed coughed and rushed ahead in his story.

“Well, in any case...I had heard quite a bit of this man’s past over the years we knew each other. But only in flighty, passing remarks. It was more recently I took the time to sit down and read his story...and it was far worse than I could have ever imagined, and it made me respect him all the more. Lin, he was a man born of human suffering and squalor and pain and yet he grew to be among the most incredible I ever had the pleasure of knowing. Even if we never got along with each other, if he was able to rise from a place like that…”

“Yeah…” Alexander breathed, raising Daveed’s hand to his cheek and pressing against it. The other’s skin was soft against his cheekbone. “Maybe I can do something good while we’re here…”

Then, Daveed’s stomach rumbled, and the two laughed. “Perhaps we should stop for a bite to eat?” his date suggested, Alexander vehemently agreeing.

* * *

 

The two sat down at a picnic table, the wood worn smooth from years of families out for the day. Daveed took one side, and Alex the other -- he considered sitting down beside his date, but concluded that he’d rather look into the man’s eyes (he was getting awfully sappy quick) and took his rest in a position that allowed the two to bump knees.

The atmosphere was relaxed, other groups passing through. But more importantly, Daveed was smiling, shoulders comfortable sloped, not minding when a breeze tousled his poofy hair. “You likin’ the gardens, darlin’?” he purred.

“Very,” he chuckled, watching Daveed pull out the lunch they’d packed earlier, tossing him a sandwich. With two incomes (albeit with Alexander making less a third of what Daveed did), they’d felt better about diversifying their meals a bit. Personally, he was happy to move past their daily peanut butter sandwiches; he bit into his cucumber sandwich, enjoying the light crunch and distinctive taste. Swallowing, he added, “The gardens are far larger than I expected, but that was a pleasant surprise. They’re gorgeous, really; and hearing all about the different trees and grasses and such from you…”

Daveed set his sandwich down on its wrapper, leaning forward slightly. “Well, you can pick where we go for our next date! What’re _your_ interests? I mean, you _know_ I love gardening, nature, exploration, architecture, music…” He shrugged. “But what do _you_ like to do?”

Alexander opened his mouth, but no response arose. He shut his mouth again, tongue flicking over dry, slightly-parted lips. What _did_ he enjoy? He...he had put quite a bit of work into the chicken coup outside his home! He had done the research to build it, and what sort of gravel to use. But...no, that was just a side project. And his main projects were nothing but work assignment after work assignment. The happiness in his life came from being with friends and family, or going out for small distractions like theater or parties with Eliza, with their busy social life. Then, his earlier conversation with Daveed hummed to the forefront of his mind. His childhood. “As a kid, I wanted to become a doctor. Maybe something to do with medicine and biology? Who knows...we’ll figure it out eventually.”

Daveed shrugged pleasantly, finishing off his cucumber sandwich, and Alexander was about to suggest they continue their waltz about the gardens when he recalled the little surprised shoved into his front pocket. Seeing his grin, Daveed tentatively questioned, “What’s that about?”

“I mentioned I had a surprise, earlier, didn’t I?” he sniggered with glee, pulling the bag from his pocket and setting it on the picnic table. “That coffee shop I work at...my coworkers really came through for me and snuck us out some treats. Didn’t know what you would like, so I got a sampling of every-”

“It’s a little mushed,” Daveed laughed in observation.

Alexander, very maturely, stuck out his tongue. “Next time, I’ll store it in my boot.” To emphasize his point, he snagged a cinnamon cookie and bit into it.

“I tell you all about my love for cinnamon-flavored crabapples, and you go out and eat the the only cinnamon cookie?” Daveed cried, a hint of mocking offense in his tone. Alexander considered pointing out that his date had said _Jefferson_ liked apples, not himself, but those thoughts died before ever rising in his throat when said date reached across the table and plucked the remaining cookie from his hand, leaning forward enough to whisper into his ear, “I would have stolen it from your mouth rather than your hand, but alas, we are in public…”

“Yeah!” Alexander squealed, voice cracking. They were in public. People were around them. Still, Daveed lovingly squeezed his knee, and they went back to their desserts.

Maybe this could work.

* * *

 

They stumbled back to their apartment as if drunk, giddy and swaying on their feet. It wasn’t because of alcohol; no, they couldn’t afford that. But Alexander felt as though he were floating on the high of their date, and damn it all if it didn’t feel wonderful. Stretching, he said, “It’s good to be back home,” not even knowing when he had begun to consider the tiny apartment more than a place to stay for the night.

Daveed dropped his bag beside the counter in the kitchenette, not even bothering to take out his water bottle -- the same one he had owned since the day they first ate together on the library steps, Daveed complaining of the cheap plastic and leaky lid. “Hey honey, did you wanna shower real quick before bed, or…?”

Considering for a moment, he finally reached a conclusion and chirped out a pleasant “I showered before our date, and I’m exhausted. I think it’ll be fine; I’ve hardly even messed up my hair, at least.”

In hindsight, he should have expected how that would sound, but in the moment, he accepted Daveed thumbing a few strands away from his eyes. “Your hair is quite beautiful, anyway.”

“I was thinking about growing it out,” he admitted, taking a step towards his mat on the floor. After their excursion, it seemed comparatively...dull, a reminder that above all else he would return to-

Daveed caught his arm, and when Alexander turned to ask for his release, he was met with an uncertain spiel. “Lin. Before you turn in for the night, I had something I wished to ask of you…”

Alexander’s brow furrowed. “Yes…?”

“I…” Daveed paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Well, if we _are_ in fact going to date...which obviously I’m assuming we are, considering we joked about out next excursion...and I simply do not feel comfortable asking the person I want to be with to sleep on the floor. We could both fit in my bed, so…”

Alexander made a show of thinking, but then loosened his shoelaces and toed them off. “I _was_ getting a little tired of sleeping on the floor, anyway.” He dropped down gingerly onto the edge of the bed, and Daveed walked over to the light switch.

Their gazes met and Daveed smiled, clicking the room into darkness. Blinking to try and adjust to the lower light levels, he watched the other’s shadow silhouette cross the floor in but a handful of steps, a result of the tiny space and long legs. Then, the mattress dipped down beside him as the other sat down, pulling his shirt over his head and ditching his pants and socks. Even with the relative darkness, Alexander considered looking away; he had always slept in nothing but a nightshirt, but while Daveed was still covered, it felt...intimate.

“Lin? You planning on undressing, or…?”

He coughed, weighing the benefits and downsides. He had been sleeping in his clothing for the most part while staying with Daveed, but it would be strange to share a bed with such different levels of dress...finally, he compromised, dropping his jeans and pulling off his socks, but keeping the rest. He would have preferred a standard nightgown, but while Daveed’s clothing was a little big on him, it would have ridden up either way.

“You gonna take off your shirt?” Daveed asked, one finger trailing over Alexander’s goatee.

“I get cold easily,” he mumbled out, distracted by the featherlight touch.

“Heh, that’s something you and I’ve got in common...I would always have the fire lit to starve away the chill,” Daveed admitted, dropping back onto the mattress and comfortably settling himself under the bedsheets. Alexander joined him, expecting for them to head right to sleep if Daveed was in such a hurry to bundle up, when an involuntary squeak escaped his lips as Daveed shoved him down. The blankets were thick overtop them, keeping them pressed together as Daveed tipped his chin up and nipped at his neck. “I hope this warms you up.”

The sound he made was choked, anxiety-ridden, and it must have alarmed Daveed, because the other man pulled back to look down at him, face hidden in shadow. “If I’m moving too fast- we, uh- we don’t need to do anything like this yet. It’s only been a single date, and sex is _not_ a requirement for sharing a sleeping space. I’m happy to give you plenty of room.”

Alexander gulped, the sound seemingly impossible loud and heavy in the darkness of the room.

He hadn’t done anything like this since John. John, the man who meant the world to him. Sweet, trustworthy, the one person he had told everything to without restraint, the one person he knew would listen and understand. And yet also...John, the man who rushed into battle with no regard for others. The one who was happy to throw him down onto their cot. Then, later? No longer his lover. Oh, someone his heart longed to be with more than anything else. But John had pulled away, argumentative over his accusations of hiding his marriage and the fear of sodomy corrupting him. And when John left for South Carolina, Alexander had not been able to follow.

That was that.

He let out a slow sigh. This was nothing illegal. There were no strings attached, no fear of losing his lover in a single battle. “Well, that just depends on whether or not you have oil on hand.”

If the lights were on, he was sure he would be able to see Daveed flush; as it was, he stumbled over his words. “Ah, n-no, but we’ll...get something for next time. Tonight we’ll merely need to...limit our activities.”

Hearing him trip, Alexander tilted his head, trying to gauge the other’s body language. “Are _you_ comfortable with this?”

He received a weak chuckle. “Only...completely inexperienced.”

“Mn. Well, you still have an advantage.”

“What’s that?”

Before he could change his mind, Alexander pushed himself up onto his elbows, legs wrapped around Daveed’s waist, and pressed their lips together. It was short lived, but sweet, so much softer and gentler than he had expected. “We’ve got the same body parts. That’s something. And I’ll make sure you know if I do or don’t like anything -- so long as you do the same.” He meant it reassuringly, and it seemed to work, Daveed confidently humming and planting a quick peck to his nose before returning to his neck, then pulling down the collar of his shirt to reach the skin there. “There’re easier ways to disrobe me,” Alexander offered, suppressing laughter.

Lighthearted and casual, Daveed submitted. “That’s fair. Although-” he bent close to Alexander’s ear, “I was hoping to see you a little more passionate, rather than an inch away from a fit of laughter.”

“Why not both?” he teased, wrapping a hand around the back of Daveed’s neck and throwing the taller man down on top of him. To his disappointment, he only got so far as flicking his tongue over the other’s lips before Daveed pulled back, instead placing a kiss to his stomach through the cloth. Slightly lower, and he was able to nip at the sliver of exposed skin between his underclothes and shirt, which had -- as expected -- ridden up past his hip bones.

“I’ll take it,” Daveed replied between scattered kisses, working Alexander’s shirt off over his head to lock his mouth onto his chest. Without thinking, he pushed up against the contact, bucking his hips into the other’s. Almost embarrassingly, he whined when the other drew back, undoubtedly a smug expression firmly planted over his face. “Can I assume that’s something you like?”

Alexander snorted, returning the tone. “I’m just happy to finally be getting somewhere.” Despite his teasing, he smiled, eyes half-lidded and face likely flushed. He only wished the Daveed would return his ministrations to his mouth, kissing him deep.

“Okay, okay, have some patience. I’m a little nervous,” Daveed admitted, slowly making his way lower to nip at the crease of his thigh.

“Of course, love,” Alexander replied, situating himself so that he could run his fingers through Daveed’s hair. It was soft and fluffy, curls tangling around his touches, and he realized he had never done that before. Maybe it was a bit quick to jump right to sex after a first date, but more than that, it felt like he was...missing something. He hadn’t yet been able to wake up curled around the other, or relax with lazy kisses. That wasn’t much of a concern, at least; he was having a good time tonight, fully looking forward to returning Daveed’s hesitant actions with something a little more confident.

At least, he hoped so. Because as much as he wanted this, it had been _so_ _long_ , and worry was slowly building in his chest. Despite telling himself, telling _Daveed_ that he was comfortable, and alright, there was that present hiss of illegality. A punishable offense. He was trusting someone so quick, so much, and he didn’t even know who they really were.

His lover still seemed to enjoy his touch, as he reached to run his hands over Alexander’s before returning to quick kisses, pushing his knee aside to learn more comfortable to his skin. Alexander hummed weak, shuddery appreciations at that until one-

Right over his scar, making him jerk, barely clothed groin jumping against Daveed’s lips.

_Nonono-_

Throat tightening, he couldn’t seem to speak, only feebly batting at the other man. Thankfully, oh, _thank God_ , Daveed dropped his hips and looked up, immediately moving to comfort him.

“I’m so sorry-” he gasped out, writhing to escape Daveed’s arms. “I-I just-”

His partner moved to try and give him more space on the bed, Alexander scooting to the very edge as tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes. “Angel, did I...is there anything I can do to help you?”

He shook his head, clamping a hand over his mouth before moving it to instead tug hard on his hair, trying to ground himself. “I’m so sorry, but it’s been so long since I last did anything and you touched my scar and- I was shot, that’s why I’ve got it, it’s some damn cruel reminder of everything I had and lost, my past life…” Daveed said _nothing_ , and the silence terrified him, forced him to keep rambling. “And I know I must sound like a madman, b-but I haven’t done anything like this in ages n-not since...since John Laurens, and even that is clearly not a secret anymore so-” He hardly registered the tears falling.

“ _What the hell-!?”_ He vaguely registered Daveed hiss, and then those previously so gentle fingers locked onto his bare chest and shoved him from his precarious position on the edge of the bed.

He let out a cry as he toppled to the ground, hitting his shoulder hard on the floor. “D-Daveed, wh-”

His _lover_ pinned him down, standing with one foot flat on the ground and the other on his chest keeping him trapped on the floor. He couldn’t breathe, the wind knocked out of him when he fell, and he wordlessly mouthed for the other to let him go.

“ _Hamilton_ ,” Daveed hissed, contempt dripping from his words. “I should have known! Reacting to the mentions of Laurens, grimacing every time Jefferson’s name was mentioned-” That pressure lightened when Daveed let up his foot, and he sucked in a breath, lungs burning. The other turned away, and Alexander could have sworn he saw tears fighting their way over the other’s face. “It _is_ you, isn’t it?”

_Thomas. Thomas Jefferson, the man who always clashed with his beliefs, so pompous and overdone and-_

_And-_

_And the man he had asked on a date_. _The man he had wanted to kiss, lie with, sleep with_.

It all made sense. How often Daveed related things to the man. How he signed his name, and what he was writing in his diary. Why he cried over his wife. His accent, his childhood.

Tears were rolling freely down Alexander’s cheeks, and he was unable to halt them. “You should know plenty well...that if I was a reincarnate like you, I wouldn’t be able to say my name...”

That was all the confirmation Daveed- _Jefferson_ \- needed, because he yanked Alexander to his feet and shoved him back. “Figures. Figures you’d be the one to run into me even in our next life, make me...make me fall in love with you…”

Alexander gave him a scathing glare, but one watered down by his blurred and red eyes. “I can’t say I feel the same. Because I never had and never will fall in love with Thomas Jefferson. But I was head over heels in love with a man named Daveed.”

Jefferson said nothing in response, and suddenly painfully aware of his near-nudity, Alexander grabbed the first clothes he laid his hands on -- whether they were the ones he had been wearing, or the ones Jefferson had had on, he didn't care -- and yanked them on to cover himself, skipping socks, not even bothering to tie his shoes or grab his wallet.

When he opened the door, the hallway light illuminated Jefferson’s face.

His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed in _fury_ and betrayal, eyelashes wet, hair sticking in every direction and damp streaks tracing dark lines over his skin.

Alexander slammed the door shut and _ran_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I've been planning this chapter since the beginning, and it has certainly come out a little different than how I originally imagined, but I'm happy to finally be here!
> 
> Being friends before their date definitely helped them slide right into the romantic atmosphere. Naturally, they're not serious enough to keep up a tense atmosphere when they're looking to be loving.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come check out my Tumblr](https://beeshavethrees.tumblr.com) where I very occasionally do interesting things and where you can very occasionally come and yell at me. Feel free to ask about the story or make requests, both here and on Tumblr!


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